


Simmering Beneath The Surface

by Knight_fall



Series: A Love of Ice and Fire [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Lyanna Is Alive, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Bittersweet, Drama, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Rhaegar, POV Female Character, Queen Lyanna, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:49:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight_fall/pseuds/Knight_fall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Rhaegar Targaryen and his beloved queen, Lyanna Stark were, but two years ago, a married prince and a nearly betrothed maiden who unlawfully gazed upon one another. Daring to act on the attraction that has bloomed between them, the couple challenged the highest authorities and disturbed the fabric of highborn society all the same. As a result of their bold move, many hardships arose – among them tragedy they avoided in some ways, yet had to face in others. Despite it all, the couple could be said to have prevailed.</p><p>Now, two years later, Rhaegar and Lyanna are the King and Queen of Westeros, and their little son, Prince Jon Targaryen is the heir to the throne. Yet, their battle is far from over as the couple learns that just because there hadn't been war, it doesn't mean one isn't yet to be fought. </p><p>Sequel to <em>Were the Stars Aligned</em>. (a short summary of events inside)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel Summary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is a summary of „Were the Stars Aligned“; though, if you plan to read it, I'd recommend you start there and skip this part since it basically spoils everything. I tried to make it as succinct as possible, but shit's long, yo.

 

\- Lyanna and her brothers, short of Ned, travel for Harrenhal to be a part of the tourney held there by Lord Whent. There, they meet Ned and Robert, who are normally fostered with Jon Arryn. Robert takes a liking to Lyanna immediately, but the same could not be said of her. (Unlike in canon, Jaime and Cersei are also to be present for the tourney. Jaime is knighted and freshly appointed to the Kingsguard.)

\- Lyanna gets an opportunity to swing a sword and act with honor when she sees Howland Reed attacked, and later that day, the Knight of the Laughing Tree is born as an idea. The night before Lyanna dons armor, she sheds tears in response to Rhaegar singing of a tragic tale. At the same dinner, Rhaegar takes notice of the lady in a red gown who is less than thrilled to dance with his cousin, Robert.

-The KotLT appears, taking three victories (coincidentally, against the lords of the squires who attacked Howland) and the Mad King's paranoia is stirred. He sends Jaime and Rhaegar after the offender.

\- Lyanna, unaware of the men on her heels, takes pause in her escape. Shedding her armor, she takes a bath in a small pool within the godswood. This allows Rhaegar and Jaime the surprise of discovering the KotLT is a woman, as well as the daughter of the Warden of the North.

\- Rhaegar sends Jaime away and confronts Lyanna. Not recognizing him at first, she stabs him in the thigh, but later the two spend a relatively pleasant afternoon in each other's company, getting rid of the KotLT's armor. Rhaegar promises to keep her secret. Other events at the tourney have Cersei trying to earn her position as Elia's lady-in-waiting, and Ashara pursuing a romance with Brandon.

\- Affected by their encounter, Rhaegar decides to award Lyanna for her tourney success. Despite the injury she inflicted on him, he appears as steady on his horse and skillful as ever, felling every opponent until the victory is his own, and a crown of winter roses is his to bestow upon a lucky woman in the audience. He surpasses his wife Elia in order to award Lyanna, and the gesture is widely noted by everyone, including Robert who, in a fit of jealousy, rips Lyanna's crown, further sealing himself away from her good graces.

\- Lyanna and Rhaegar meet in the godswood to say their farewells, and Lyanna becomes widely aware of her attraction to him. Despite of it, the two share no more than a kiss on a cheek and a promise to remember each other's friendship.

\- Six months later, Robert and Ned visit Winterfell and the news of the newborn Aegon travels the kingdoms. Lyanna finds herself discomforted by both facts, and ultimately begs her brother for help in delaying her betrothal to Robert. Ned succeeds in this. In the South, Rhaegar struggles with feelings of unrequited love, which culminates in the dreams of The Prince That Was Promised, a boy with dark curls and pale grey eyes. At the same time, the Mad King is convinced the whispered betrothal bounding the two houses means treason. Following Varys' advice, he uses the new knowledge of Lyanna being KotLT as a pretext to sending for her and bringing her to the capital as a prisoner. Rhaegar learns of these plans from Jaime.

\- Brandon and Lyanna travel for Riverrun somewhat earlier than necessary. Lyanna's thirst for adventure finds her alone in the fields outside the castle, surrounded by a small army of Targaryen men. To her luck, Rhaegar is one of them and the king's party of soldiers is prevented in their mission.

\- Rhaegar and Lyanna soon find themselves on the road to Winterfell, where Rhaegar intends to return her for her safety. Alas, one night has Lyanna impulsively stumble into the prince's tent and confess her attraction to him in form of a kiss. This, alongside his own feelings, proves itself enough for Rhaegar to propose marriage, and an escape. As a part of this plan, Lyanna writes a letter to her father, Lord Rickard, citing the Mad King's demands as her reason of escape with the prince.

\- With the two married before the Old Gods, and their marriage consummated in the Godswood at the Isle of Faces, Lyanna and Rhaegar travel further South. They finally settle in Dorne, in the Tower of Joy. In the meantime, upon learning of his sister's disappearance, Brandon travels to King's Landing, where he finds himself imprisoned by the Mad King for treason, and his father summoned to witness his trial.

\- The news reach Robert and Ned, with a letter from Lord Rickard in which he insists that Ned does nothing until he attempts to remedy the situation. This results in a conflict between Ned and Robert, who wishes to take action, but Ned reminds him he and Lyanna were not yet betrothed, thus he has no say in the matter. Jon Arryn sides with Ned, and no banners are lifted.

\- Soon enough, Rhaegar receives the news of Brandon's imprisonment, which he shares with Lyanna. The newly arised circumstance forces him to travel for the capital, while a crushed Lyanna is left at the Tower of Joy, awaiting news.

\- Using the fact of his marriage to Lyanna, Rhaegar manages to manipulate his father into releasing both Starks free of harm. Lord Rickard also accepts the developments fairly well, however, danger comes in an unexpected way, when Rhaegar learns Lyanna has been taken captive by the Dornish prince. Naturally, he finds himself rushing back to Dorne.

\- Captive at Sunspear, Lyanna overhears Doran's plans of baiting and then harming Rhaegar once he is on Dornish soil. This prompts her into a successful escape, however, an injury she suffers in struggle with a commoner renders her unconscious on a shore, where Rhaegar finds her. The two reunited, they travel by ship to Dragonstone. Unbeknownst to them, this ruins Prince Doran's plans which Lyanna has no recollection of, given the head injury she suffered.

\- At Dragonstone, Lyanna learns she is pregnant while Rhaegar receives the letter of Elia's and Aegon's demise in a fire caused by the Mad King who himself perished. This prompts another separation for the couple as King Rhaegar once more travels for the capital, this time leaving Lyanna at Dragonstone.

\- Shortly after, Ashara arrives at Dragonstone, in attempt of concealing the fact she became pregnant with Brandon's child. With Lyanna's support, she gives birth to a little Stark-looking girl, Anya.

\- Unaware of Rhaegar already being remarried, Cersei uses the opportunity of his return to the capital to attempt to seduce him, which proves itself unsuccessful. Lyanna's long-awaited arrival explains why and leaves Cersei irred and sworn on revenge.

\- As the pregnancy progresses, Lyanna has a difficult time adjusting at court. At the same time, Rhaegar is busy maintaining peace. The circumstances leave the couple on shaky ground, further disturbed when Lyanna receives the news of her lord father falling ill. Despite Rhaegar forbidding it, a heavily pregnant Lyanna finds herself on the road to Winterfell.

 - Lyanna's actions further prompt Rhaegar's advisors (including his mother) into counseling him to annul their marriage and marry Cersei Lannister. Rhaegar refuses this categorically, relying on the immense love he feels for Lyanna despite currently being upset with her. At the same time, he has to deal with the Dornish who won't recognize his marriage to Lyanna unless certain, difficult terms regarding Rhaenys are met.

  - In Winterfell, Lord Rickard perishes, and the tragedy prompts Brandon and Lyanna into a reconciliation. As Lyanna prepares to travel back South, Rhaegar leaves the Red Keep in order to negotiate with Prince Doran in person. At the same time, Cersei plots to cause Lyanna to have a late miscarriage, hoping that would prove sufficient to finally get Rhaegar to set her aside.

\- Upon her return, Lyanna finds Rhaegar to be amiss and attributes it to his anger regarding her actions. A visit to the Queen Dowager earns her chastisement and an uncomfortable revelation that Rhaegar might have had ulterior motives in taking her as wife. This, alongside the execution of Cersei's plan causes Lyanna distress, ending in her bleeding unconscious in a hall. Jaime finds himself conflicted between helping her and leaving her to die, but he ultimately comes to her aid.

\- Rhaegar, still in Dorne, learns of Lyanna having given birth. He travels back in fastest possible fashion, finding out she gave birth to a healthy babe – a prince; however, she herself is left in a critical state, wrought with fever and blood-loss. Pycelle claims the chance of her survival is slim, and Rhaegar turns to the Old Gods for comfort and prayer.

\- Lyanna ultimately awakes, but refuses Rhaegar's presence convinced that he used her as a means to an end, the end being his prophecy. With Rhaegar's insistence and declaration of love, the misunderstanding is resolved, and the two reconcile. At Lyanna's suggestion, their babe is named Jon, but the two soon have to face the maester's word of Lyanna's inability to further bear children. Rhaegar finds himself reconciled with the fact almost immediately, but Lyanna less so.

\- Irred with her working against his and Lyanna's marriage, Rhaegar sends his mother back to Dragonstone. Cersei returns to Casterly Rock, displeased with the results of her plan. Robert Baratheon remains suspiciously quiet.

\- A month later, after Lyanna had fully recovered, the two are crowned in the Sept of Baelor and their marriage is widely announced. A celebration is held, with important guests including Brandon, Benjen and Oberyn, who further insists on Dorne's conditions being met. They wish for Rhaenys to be taken as ward to Sunspear, to which Rhaegar is opposed.

\- Brandon approaches Rhaegar with the subject of denouncing his claim to Winterfell. Despite Lyanna being initially against it, the three come to an agreement that Ned is to be the Lord of Winterfell, and Brandon is to marry Ashara and be given a position on Rhaegar's small council.

\- An incident between Jon and Rhaenys which almost has Jon suffocate has Rhaegar reconsider their family arrangement. Despite Lyanna being against it, he finally decides to indulge Dorne in their plea and allow Rhaenys to live with her uncles, which results in another marital fight between Rhaegar and Lyanna.

\- In the meantime, Rhaegar comes into possession of three petrified dragon eggs, of which the largest, black one is given to Jon as a gift. Jon takes great interest in the egg.

 - The soon birth of Rhaella's child is announced, and this fact provokes melancholy in Lyanna. She, still not at peace with the idea of not having anymore children, seeks out Pycelle's advice. Pycelle suggests use of a fertility potion.

\- Lyanna seeks out Rhaegar, and apologizes to him for her reaction and their subsequent fight, and the two end this chapter of their lives embraced and in love.

 

Ooookay, so that's it. Hopefully, that list didn't kill you (I swear I tried to make it as short as possible without losing anything important). Thanks for making an effort to catch up!


	2. The New Beginning

 

Servants shuffled in and out of the little princess' room.

Lyanna craned her neck forward, Jon in arms, trying to discern if the child was there herself. She would have Rhaenys called to her chambers, but Lyanna did not wish to make her feel forced to come. A quick black shadow of a cat is sufficient proof, and Lyanna turns her head now, glancing down the hallway as another pair of chambermaids passed her.

 _Where was that woman?_ Lyanna thought she never saw that many servants in one place in her entire life, yet Jon's wet-nurse was hardly to be seen. The girl herself had been sweet, granted, even if a bit lost in her head. Lyanna did not resent her much for this, but at times it did result in inconvenience.

This problem became solved as she glanced to the Kingsguard knight to her left.

„Ser Jaime.“ Lyanna intoned, being met with slitted emerald green eyes as the knight gave her attention. Those eyes soon widen and the smile on his features fades as Lyanna extends her arms forward, entrusting Jon to the man. Lyanna's own reaction was somewhere between a chuckle and sympathy for him.

„Forgive me, Ser Jaime, I do know this is not in your duty description. But do this for me. I will be quick, I promise.“

„It is not a problem at all, Your Grace.“ Jaime mumbles unconvincingly. „It is in my job description to look after the prince.“ Then he looked down at Jon who already comfortably snuggled in his arms, no matter the fact they were stiff or much too extended from the rest of the knight's body for the sight not to be humorous.

  _Men,_ Lyanna thought to herself funnily. Could not deal with a babe that was not their own to save their life.

Touching a gentle hand to Jon's warm cheek, Lyanna offers a nod to the knight, then picks up her skirts and moves forward. She extends a fist to give a knock to the already open door.

„May I come in?“ The question had been intended for the girl sitting on her bed; yet, it is only the serving girls around her that seem to react to Lyanna, bowing and murmuring _Your Grace_ as they hurriedly scrambled out of the room. Yet, Lyanna would not move forward until the child finally acknowledged her. Rising her dark eyes to hers, Rhaenys reluctantly offers a nod, one that implied disappointment more than anything else.

„I shall leave if you want me to leave.“ Lyanna offered, and honestly as well. She had no intention of inflicting any more harm on the darling girl, it seemed her mere presence did enough damage already. Yet, Rhaenys doesn't take her up on this offer; she shakes her head in a _no_ instead, then turns her gaze to the floor.

Lyanna made a couple of steps forward, then took a seat at the edge of her bed, careful not to crowd her as well.

„Listen, my dearest,“ Lyanna began after a few moments. „I know...“

„Why do you keep calling me that?“ Rhaenys suddenly asks in her child voice.

Lyanna blinked, stuttering at her question. „I do not know, I call everyone that. Everyone who I consider dear to me, I suppose.“ It had been a habit from childhood. It first started as a jest directed at her brothers; when either one or even two angered her, she would address the third in this fashion, to imply _he_ was now her favorite of the present bunch. Of course, they all received their fair share of turns this way and the phrase remained thus.

„But it means _most dear_.“ Rhaenys returns with a small frown. „My septa says so. She also says only one thing can be most of anything, not more.“

Lyanna smiled; the girl had been exceedingly bright for her age, and listened to her septa as well. It was something Lyanna never did, both for she had no septa and listened to no one regardless.

„I suppose sometimes a person cannot decide.“ Lyanna offers in attempt of explanation. „Sometimes you don't need to decide...“ 

 „My papa decided.“  Rhaenys says, pinning her with a silently disapproving stare. She uncannily resembled her late mother in this, even Lyanna could note, when she hadn't seen Elia from more than afar. It made a slight chill run up her spine.

„That is not true.“ Lyanna insists fiercely, her brows furrowing. „Your father loves you very much, and I do too. Rhaenys, darling if you wish, you can stay here, no one is saying you have to leave-“

„Does he love me more than you?“ Rhaenys asks then, causing Lyanna to blink with surprise.

„It is difficult to compare.“ She finally says softly.  „Those are two different types of love...“

„Does he love me more than Jon?“

 „Well, no, but he doesn't love Jon more either. You are both his children, he loves you both the same. You see, parents-“

„No one can love two things the same.“ Rhaenys concludes, then averts her eyes back to the floor.

* * *

 

„I swear, you allow those Dornishmen far too much.“ Jon Connington grumpily murmurs. „ It won't be long before they sink those poisonous claws of theirs into your daughter, and then you will regret this.“

„The decision is made.“ Rhaegar returns firmly. „There is little to discuss. Better this than a rebellion. This way, I protect both my children. Otherwise, I could end up protecting none.“

„If you think Dorne will rebel, then let them rebel.“His Hand grumbles. „We would either crush them, or they would gain independence, either way they would stop being a thorn in your ass. This way you keep feeling guilty, and they keep making demands. Where does it end?“

Rhaegar shook his head. „You make it sound like my guilt is misplaced. Prince Doran lost his sister, he lost his nephew for my father's actions, and I wasn't there to protect them. A certain measure of compensation -“

 „Compensation?“ Jon huffs. „You gave them enough coin to build a statue of their beloved sister in every square mile of Dorne, and 'tis not like she had done something to deserve that.“

„You are being unfair.“ Rhaegar returns, rubbing his forehead. This had been a common point of complaint of Jon, the man could speak of all faults Elia had and didn't have for hours, and didn't even restrain from this after her death. Rhaegar never quite understood what was the source of that specific fraction between them. „Elia was a proper princess and a proper wife. She did more for me than I deserved, yet I let her down anyway. Gods know there aren't enough praises in the world she could get in death that would make up for the injustice she suffered in life.“

„She did nothing another wouldn't do even better.“ Jon further insists.

His fists clench as if to punctuate the severity of his argument. „You were a prince, _The_ Prince of Dragonstone, and you were you, and any woman, no matter how fair or highborn, would have been squealing with joy to have you as husband, and all of them would know their place, as would their families. The Martells are milking your good intentions at this point. Elia might have been highborn, even a princess in her own right, but Gods knew you could do better than her. If she'd made any effort to keep your attentions, she might have still been alive, and perhaps her brothers should think _why_ you weren't there in the first place, instead of blaming you for anything and everything.“

„They know why I wasn't there.“ Rhaegar returned, sighing. He was getting tired of this conversation. „I know why I wasn't there, and it wasn't for Elia failed in any way. Gods be good, Jon, what does a wife of mine have to do to get into your good graces? I fear to ask what you may truly think of Lyanna.“

„No worse than I already expressed.“ Jon quips. „She's too wild, but I can't seem to get you to see that as a bad thing. At least she makes you happy, and she gave you a son. I can respect her for that.“

 _Respect?_ The word felt strange, given the context. Aye, those were all good things, and Rhaegar cherished them, cherished and loved _her_ for them. He respected her for other things. But Rhaegar also understood others thought queens had to be all that and more.

His heart broke at times when Jon was mentioned as an accomplishment of his mother, for how long would it be before Jon would toddle around, babbling his first words and Lyanna would not have another babe at her breast to either love for herself, or get praise for by others?

Rhaegar didn't need another child for himself, he truly didn't and he never viewed her worth as dependent on that. It even sickened him, the fact some others did, yet, he could neither deny that reality or change it. Soon enough, Lyanna would fail in producing another heir and any critical spectators at court would only eye her harder as years went by. And Lyanna wasn't meek and docile to earn affection or pity so, nor would he wish that on her. Rhaegar wanted for everyone else to see her the way he did, as the fierce she-wolf she was, the queen of his heart and more. But how would he accomplish this?  

„Tywin Lannister is spoken to arrive to the capital today.“ Jon snaps him out of his thoughts. „He will likely request an audience in the Throne Room upon his arrival. He is yet to accept your invitation to serve on your small council.“

„Accept or decline.“ Rhaegar corrected. „We know not what are his plans. The man aimed to wed his daughter into the royal family, I doubt a mere seat on my council can compare.“

„He would be a fool to decline anyway.“ Jon insists. „You still have his son, his firstborn serving in your Kingsguard, vowed to take no wife and father no children. If the great Tywin Lannister doesn't want that imp of his second son inheriting Casterly Rock, he better suck up to you any way he can.“

„Things are rarely that simple.“ Rhaegar replies wistfully.

* * *

 

„Ser Jaime.“ Rhaegar intones strongly, taking steps down the hallway at whose end the dashing knight in snow-white armor stood. He kept his spot before Rhaenys' chambers, Rhaegar could note from afar. Only once he approaches sufficiently, does he see an equally white bundle in the knight's arms, held improperly and claiming a lion's share of the knight's concentration, as if he feared he may drop his prince otherwise. The gilded circlet atop Jon's head, threatening to fall off, testified to the fact this worry was somewhat justified.

„Ser Jaime, has no one ever taught you how to hold a babe?“ Rhaegar asks with a frown, taking his son from his arms. Jon's pretty grey eyes widen at the shift, then heavy lids droop once more as he returns to his favorite thing in the world, slumbering.

„No, Your Grace, I must say no one ever did.“ Ser Jaime returns, a daring glint in his own green eyes. Then he grumbles, in a tone that implied he was miffed with whoever charged him with this. „I fear I am better apt at swinging a sword, but her grace had nowhere else to leave him.“

„Where is she, Lyanna?“ Rhaegar asks of the other man. He gets distracted before the answer comes; his eyes focus down on Jon, who had been extending his tiny arms forward, attempting to twist them in his father's hair. It was something he had in common with his mother; Rhaegar did not recall any of his other children being so fascinated with his hair.

„I am right here.“ It is Lyanna's own husky voice that reaches him then, pleasantly surprising him.

„Hello, my dearest!“ A smiling Lyanna cooes to Jon, then gives him a kiss. She climbs on her toes then, and grinning, treats Rhaegar to the same thing.

„What are you doing now?“ She asks him sweetly, returning to her heels. Her tone had been as if they hadn't just parted ways an hour ago in her chambers. Rhaegar found it most endearing; she was just as eager to see him when they parted ways for hours as if they did for moons.

“I shall say my farewells to Rhaenys, and then I have a string of audiences in the Throne Room. Perhaps you and Jon could join.“ Rhaegar did not add _if you wish_ at the end of that sentence, knowing very well she was not particularly delighted with the suggestion. She told him on a couple of occasions she found the Throne Room scary with all its giant dragon skulls adorning it, and Rhaegar knew she despised even more the matters that unraveled within it. Yet, the conversation with Jon clung close to him yet still; how could she be respected by her subjects, if her subjects never see her?

She offers a little sigh, but then finally says, „Alright.“

* * *

 

Lyanna gazed upon her quiet, little Jon in arms, seeing he was on the brink of dozing off. After listening to one petty lord's plight after the other, Lyanna felt like she may have a similar response.

„Lord Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Warden of the West, and his daughter, Lady Cersei.“ The loud announcement came, then. Jon did not stir or in any way suggested he cared for this development.

Lyanna looked forward, seeing a tall, middle-aged man approach; the confidence in his posture was only rivaled by the arrogance in his ruthless green gaze. Reminded of a similar, yet somehow different pair of eyes, Lyanna glanced to her side where Ser Jaime stood still, apart from his jaw that uncomfortably shifted. His grimace told Lyanna a lot.

„Your Grace.“ a velvety, rich voice calls, and Lyanna sees Tywin Lannister offer a bow toward the throne. He then nodded to herself. Beside him, Cersei offered a deep curtsey, the few unpinned golden tresses from the back of her head draped forth, over her cleavage. Lyanna could guess one had a better view of it from the heights of the throne, than from the chair Lyanna sat in. She was suddenly reminded of why she hated that woman.

„Lord Tywin.“ Rhaegar addresses the man in an equally powerful voice; it sometimes stunned Lyanna, how a man so gentle and soft-spoken as he could put on the facade of a strict ruler so fast. Yet, she knew it had not been effortless, and that such things largely exhausted him.

 „Thank you for your visit to the capital, it had been expected for a while now.“

„My apologies, Your Grace.“ Tywin smoothly returns. „I had some urgent matters to attend to at home. I take my position as the Warden of the West quite seriously.“

„I am sure you do.“ Rhaegar says evenly, „as much as I hope you will take your position on my Small Council so as well. Have you considered the offer I made to you, Lord Tywin?“

„I have, Your Grace.“ Tywin Lannister says. „I would be honored to accept.“

„Then, I assign you, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, to the position of the king's Master of Coin.“

 „You honor me, Your Grace.“ Lord Tywin returns, now moving to kneel on a single knee. With Rhaegar allowing it, he rises.

„Your Grace, given my new position, if I may propose my daughter, Cersei to the party of the queen's ladies-in-waiting.“

 _Queen? That is me._ _But I have no ladies-in-waiting..._ Lyanna almost stopped listening, but now her attention was jerked back to the blonde woman, who had been all the while smirking as if something were very pleasing.

Rhaegar's voice was heard once more. „Lady Cersei, if that is your desire, you will have to address the queen herself.“

„My queen.“ Cersei immediately sings, turning to her. „It would be an honor if you would accept my company here at court.“

Everything in Lyanna screamed no, yet she had enough presence of mind to glance at Rhaegar first. He did not glance back, and Lyanna took it to mean this was her decision alone. But he had just accepted her father to his small council. And, the Lannisters were important, suddenly Rhaella's voice made its way to the forefront of her mind. _Unsatisfied lords mean a dead king..._

„I accept your offer, Lady Cersei.“ Lyanna finally voiced, though not without a sigh. She could not force herself into doing more than she had already done, and thus did not feign any enthusiasm with her voice. Having this woman once more in court would be no less than horror. Yet, Lyanna once dealt with her, and if she would have to, she would do it again.

Cersei did not look at her, nor at Rhaegar now, instead her eyes were fixed to Jon. 


	3. You Know You're Right

 

Jaime knew today would be a thoroughly unpleasant day.

It was his Lord Father's (and Cersei's) appearance that testified to this fact the day before. The great Tywin Lannister, and his fair, dutiful daughter, the golden maiden had come to bow before the king, and Jaime, instead of standing by his father's side as his firstborn and heir and doing the same, was guarding the queen's back instead. Jaime had at first looked in every direction but before the throne, not wanting to meet his father's eye. There was no need; Jaime was a disappointment and he knew it. Only later did he gaze on a couple of occasions forward, and on each of these occasions he was trying to gauge if Cersei cared any for his presence.

If she did, she did not show it; at first, her gaze was fixed to the floor and her lips into an airy smile as if she were certain Rhaegar was paying attention, and then, to her queen, Lyanna, once she was forced to address her. Yet, Cersei had done so without a hitch, even when asked to prostrate herself before her feet and ask for permission in order to remain at court. She smiled with loveliness and curtsied with elegance, yet those eyes, those shining emerald eyes, they were fixed on her goal, like a lioness would fix her gaze to her prey.

She had a plan, Jaime knew. He did not even need to ask, he did not even want to know. Yet he knew, sooner or later she would come to him to ask him for help. That was all Jaime was lately, a convenient puppet in a convenient place. He was the closest thing to a spy Cersei had when it came to Lyanna and Rhaegar, and she was not about to restrain in using him so.

The doors open, then close, and then his father enters. Jaime swallowed the gulp he held inside his throat.

„Jaime.“ His Lord Father greeted, less like a father and more like a man making sure his legacy was still in place.

„Lord Father.“ Jaime returns in kind. Perhaps, if they were anything but Lannisters, his father would approach to hug him, or at least tap him on his shoulder, yet it was no surprise that Tywin Lannister remained at a sufficient distance for his gaze to travel over him,scrutinizing him. And to think Jaime was regarded as the favorite son.

„I see you are still wearing that armor.“ His father notes with an edge of distaste. _Of course I am still wearing that armor,_ Jaime wants to reply. What else would he be wearing? Of course, it was more than the armor that bugged him; for any other man, the fact his son was given the opportunity of assuring the safety of the king himself, it would be an honor. Yet again, Tywin Lannister was no ordinary man.

„It is my Kingsguard armor.“ Jaime returns instead. „It is my duty to wear it.“

„Perhaps.“ His father returns, in a voice that hints that one of his famous monologues was on its way. „Yet what I know for certain that your duty is, is your duty as a Lannister. You were born a Lannister, and you will die a Lannister.“

„I will die as a member of the Kingsguard.“ Jaime corrects. „I took a sacred vow.“

„There is nothing truly sacred about that sacred vow you took.“ His father says. „There can be nothing sacred about a fact that is as fickle as a king's word, and can be revoked at any time. When the Mad King took you into his service and you were foolish enough to accept, did you truly think I assumed such a thing would last for a lifetime? If I did, stand assured I would wage a war to get my heir back. Yet, the Mad King died of fire he made with his own hands, and nothing else.“

„And now Rhaegar is king.“

„And now Rhaegar is king.“ His father repeats.

„Do you plan to wage a war on Rhaegar?“ Jaime casually asks. „He did not release me from my vows, after all, and I know you asked.“

„He did not yet, but he will.“ His father assures. „Once Cersei is queen, and she gives him a son, I imagine he would be more inclined to reconsider your position.“

„Once Cersei is queen?“ Jaime repeats. „Shouldn't that be, _if and when_ Cersei is queen?“

„The Lannisters do not speak in terms of possibilities.“ His father's firm voice assures. „It is true, your sister is hardly getting married tomorrow, but in time, she will be closer to this goal of hers. With my help. Which is why I accepted the position offered to me.“

„And you need me to do—what exactly?“ Jaime asks, knowing his father never lead a pointless conversation.  

„I need you to remember where your loyalties are.“ His father intones. „I do not have a specific task for you yet, but _if and when_ I do, I need to know you will get it done, no matter the cost to your newly found honor. Is that understood?“

„Of course, Father. I am a Lannister, after all.“ Jaime repeats, trying not to laugh at the seriousness of his own words.

„Good.“ His father gives him an icy stare. „Then I can trust what happened last time will not happen again?“

„What happened last time?“ Jaime frowned.

„I know you were the honorable knight of the Kingsguard who did not let his queen out of sight, not even when hers and her child's life were in peril. What a luck was it, that you, and only you were there, and yet the Grand Maester attended to her in a timely manner. And now our king has a healthy heir, a half-Stark.“

„I could not leave her to die.“ Jaime offers in his defence. „It would be too suspicious. Rhaegar himself assigned me to watch after her. If she was to die, and that child be lost alongside her for something I did or failed to do, you wouldn't have an heir anyway for my head would be on a spike.“

„I do not care for you excuses.“ His Lord Father returns. „I care for your actions, so make sure you act accordingly.“

„Yes Father.“ Jaime said as his father turned to leave. Only with the man out of sight, he let out a deep breath, realizing this was only the half of it. Soon, Cersei would come near him, be close to him, and it was then that Jaime would truly lose his mind.

* * *

 

 „Why are you two gawking out the window like a pair of maidens?“ Jaime asks of his Kingsguard brothers. Only seeing the white armor piled up, he didn't know which two they were; he was however certain neither of them was either Ser Arthur, or Ser Barristan, either of whom he would not dare address accordingly. Neither of the knights turned, but the quiet murmur between them ceased.

„And why have you fallen silent?“ Jaime asks now, approaching the window, the pitiful creak in the wall of the Kingsguard room that opened toward the gardens. He spots two familiar figures taking a walk at the center of it, and another white shadow, trailing behind.

„We didn't want to offend you.“ Gerold says. „We were just talking about the queen and your sister, how odd it is to see two such beautiful women one alongside the other.“

„And why would that offend me?“ Jaime frowns.

„I don't know, I still would say our queen holds the sway in this duel.“ Oswell offers, ignoring him. „Lady Cersei is faintly beautiful, but our queen has a certain strength of spirit shining from the inside out.“ As if to make his point for him, Lyanna smiled then, yet not at Cersei, but at some random boy working in the gardens. That boy's day was surely made.

„What would you say, Ser Jaime?“ Oswell asks him, then.

„Oh, I couldn't possibly be objective, in my position.“ Jaime returns with mock. „I better sit this one out. You should ask the king.“

„The king is not objective either.“ Gerold says with a smirk, coming as close to being crass about his queen without being crass.

„The king was objective once, and he chose her.“ Oswell observes. „I think we should trust his taste.“

Too bad Jaime's family did not share the sentiment.

* * *

 

 Lyanna was standing before her mirror, trying to untangle her short curls with a comb, when her husband entered. She spared him a glance, but then returned to her task; for some reason, one lock of her hair was so damnably tangled she'd been entertaining it for what felt like half an hour. Then again, perhaps it was just the effect of being a jumbled tangle of nerves ever since she was forced to take a walk with that thoroughly unpleasant woman.

„Easy.“ Rhaegar says, slipping behind her into the mirror reflection. His hand clasped over hers, claiming the grasp on the comb.

„There.“ He says, not even two seconds later. It took him no more than three strides to untangle it.

„How did you do that?“ Lyanna asks, incredulous.

Rhaegar shrugs. „Not being tense helps, I suppose. Is everything well?“ He asks.

Lyanna gritted her teeth; she did not want to tell him, yet she wished to say _something._ She decides on asking something of him instead.

„You know I thought about it.“ Lyanna tells him, turning to look at him. „I think I could never truly be angry with you. I would forgive you anything and everything you could ever do, except if you were to couple with another. So don't, don't, please don't.“

 Rhaegar frowned at this. „Why are we talking about this now?“ He asks.

„I don't know.“ Lyanna says. Oh but she did, she knew why. „Just promise me, promise me you will never couple with any other woman, and Cersei Lannister least of all. Any other I could even somehow bear, but not that my husband had developed a taste for such venom.“

„You are being silly, you know that?“ Her husband inquires with an edge of amusement.

„I know.“ Lyanna returns. „But promise me anyway, please, please.“ Her pretty brows furrowed, like a child's would when candy was kept away from it.

„Very well.“ Rhaegar concedes with a small smile. „I hereby solemnly swear, I will never couple with any other woman in my life, and least of all, Cersei Lannister. Will that do?“

 „It will do.“ Lyanna breathes, satisfied. „Thank you.“ She laid her delicate hands on his chest then, tracing a pattern on it.

Rhaegar would inquire still. „Why did you take her into your party of ladies-in-waiting if you hate her so much?“

Lyanna suddenly blinks away, and lets her arms down, as if she were discomforted by something. „Her father sits on your small council, and, while your mother was here, she kept prattling on about just how important the Lannisters were. I thought I was doing what any queen would do. Was I wrong in this?“ She asks, lifting her wide eyes toward him again.

„You were not wrong.“ Rhaegar assures. He took her smaller hand, and lifted it to his lips. „Thank you.“

Lyanna frowns. „For what?“ she asks. 

„For being my queen.“ Rhaegar says seriously.

„Cersei Lannister would kill to be your queen, you know?“ she asks, that woman on her mind yet still.

„I know.“ Rhaegar returns. „But I don't love Cersei Lannister. I love you. Turn around.“ Then he commands.

Lyanna looks at him strangely for an instant or two, but finally she complies. Rhaegar lets a hand drift to the laces of her nightgown, tied on her back; as he tugged on a bow there, he could see a wolfish grin spring to her face. His hands moved to her shoulders then, and pushed the fabric down. 

No, no, don't close your eyes.“ His low voice comfortably vibrated in her ear. „Look.“ he urged her, eyes suggesting to the image in the mirror. „I want you to see what I see when I look at you.“

 Lyanna gazed forward; as she did, she found her eyes narrowing and the mirror image responding in kind. It had been odd, looking at herself bare this way, though Lyanna would never consider herself shy. It was not her own form that was strange to her, rather the fact he was behind her, breathing over her ear and soon promising pleasure.

His arm snakes around her waist, tendons in it straining as a hand reaches further down. Lyanna felt his fingers brush her _there_ ; her breath hitched and her heels shot up off the ground, her body straining upward all on its own accord, perhaps trying to take more of him in. 

It felt strange yet strangely satisfying, watching to the disheveled woman in the mirror, seeing her flush with pleasure at being treated the exact same way you were treated. There, she could see the effects of his touches as plain as day; she saw her neck flush with red, she saw her reflection biting her lip before she even knew she was doing it. Lyanna felt like she'd completely detached from the image in the mirror, like it was not a body at all, merely a vessel he played there, yet she could feel the effects of it here.

His head rises then, just for a fleeting moment, and their eyes meet through the reflection.

He pays her little mind in this struggle, she could see; through the mirror, she notes the expression of concentration on his features as he looks away, yet keeps to his task diligently. He never strained in this, stuttered or missed a beat, it appeared and _felt_ as effortless, masterful and graceful as everything he did. Even the intent, thoughtful expression on his face was one she knew, Lyanna realized, it was how he looked whenever he played his harp. She felt like that may be her in this instant.

„Oh.“ She uttered absently, only realizing she did when she felt him smile against her skin in turn. He never looked up again, not even once except that one time in the beginning when he did, as if to make sure she was still watching. Lyanna was, but now her eyes closed all by themselves; her heart skipped an instance and the rest of her followed, shuddering and trembling as a free leaf in the wind.

The crash that hit against her felt like a crash of the largest wave against the shore, and it was strong enough that Lyanna found her legs wavered beneath her.

In turn, Rhaegar sweeped Lyanna of her feet, granting her comfort and stability as he did so. She wrapped her arms around his neck instead.

„I love you, do you know?“ She muttered huskily into his chest, once she regained her presence of mind. „Oh how I do.“

This earned her an amused chuckle from Rhaegar, perhaps for how predictable such a response had become to him. She suspected that was his primary reason in wearing her out so, the fact she was faster and more free to offer such affections afterward.

„I love you too.“ He whispered in return.

Carrying her to bed, her husband left the mirror with its old boring reflection of an untouched potion vial, and her nightgown in a white pool on the floor.

 


	4. Without You I'm Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing's first, I'm so sorry for the delay with this! This chapter is a bit longer than normal though so hopefully that excuses me some (I wrote the middle part last so by the time I could split it into two chapters I already finished both, lol). Thanks for bearing with me!

Lyanna anticipated today would be a difficult day.

She'd been awoken most early this morning by courtesy of a handmaiden, so early that Rhaegar was still curled atop the sheets beside her. With a stifle of a yawn, Lyanna moved to roll over, yet, her husband was intent on not letting her out of bed; instead, he whined sleepily as he burrowed his face into her naked back, like a dragon insistent on not allowing something he acquired slip out of his grasp.

He had been most spoiled in this matter, given that it was usually he who was to rise early and go off chasing his commitments for the day, thus never having to suffer the torment of empty sheets. Yet, Lyanna had been wicked; she shook him off with a chuckle and a kiss, then slipped out of his hold and quickly dashed for the bath that had been prepared for her.

It was only with the water that all remnants of her sleepiness dwindled off, and Lyanna found the weight of her upcoming commitments press upon her. First thing, she would visit the nursery, see her little Jon, kiss him and play with him to start off her day brightly, and then she would steal away into the godswood. Lyanna had been planning on going for some time now, aching for the privacy and serenity it offered. Yet, in both those tasks she would have to be quick enough to not be late to her own self-appointed torture, in form of a court-held breakfast.

With two letters arriving in a short span of time from one another, both carrying lighthearted news, Lyanna decided it was her duty to use this occasion to organize a lunch for all the ladies at court. It would be held in celebration of little Princess Daenerys turning a full moon, and for the fact Ned (who was now a royal goodbrother – almost as strange a thought as that Lyanna truly was queen) was only a couple of days away from wedding Catelyn Tully.

The wedding itself would be held at Riverrun, where Brandon's wedding to Catelyn was once meant to take place. This itself was a difficult adjustment to make; for her entire life, Lyanna assumed it would be her firstborn brother that would be the heir to everything their own father sustained, that it would be his children that would once fill the halls of Winterfell with their laughter. Yet he gave it all away, and willingly, and now poor Ned found himself with more power and responsibility than he could have ever hoped for.

Regardless, there was not a doubt in Lyanna's heart that Catelyn and Ned may in time grow to love one another; Ned was nothing if he wasn't agreeable. It was only the fact she could not attend the wedding that she found regretful. The trip would have taken awfully long for her busy husband to even think about accompanying her, and Jon was still too little to be exposed to the efforts of such a journey, as well as too little to be separated from her for such a long time. Thus, Lyanna sent her best wishes by a raven, pleading with her brother to understand and not resent her for this absence.

In truth, it was Winterfell that Lyanna hoped she may visit someday with Jon, perhaps once Ned and Catelyn were settled in their lives, and Jon himself was of age to fully take in the North; it had still been her home, after all, and thus his own as well. Perhaps then, she would be able to persuade Rhaegar into coming along too. For now, they were in line to play at being an exemplary royal couple.

 _I am doing this for him and Jon_ , Lyanna assured herself. If it was for her family, Lyanna would rein herself in for a couple of insufferable hours, much like she did on occasions when her lord father bidded her to do so.

By the time she'd returned into the bedchamber space, Rhaegar had also awoken, bleary purple eyes squinting in the light of the new day. Those eyes lazily followed her form as Lyanna went up to her armoire and set on digging through her dresses. Lyanna smiled; at the very least, she could make additional use of her husband's attention.

„Which one?“ She asked turning, holding two of her dresses before her. One had been of burgundy red velvet, with a black closing of the cleavage, and the other had been fully black, decorated in shape and texture rather than color. Both of them very Targaryen and Southron, hidden in the sea of grey that was her armoire, however inappropriate some may deem it. Yet, these two were fitting for the occasion even to the most critical eye.

Rhaegar squinted before he offered an answer. „The black one.“

„You think?“ Lyanna asked, now talking to him through the mirror. She frowned, scrutinizing the dress that she held to her chest. „I think it sort of makes me look gaunt.“

„ I think it sort of makes you look dangerous.“ Her husband remarked offhand, causing Lyanna to scoff.

„Dangerous? Is that supposed to be a compliment?“ Who could she possibly endanger, and let alone without a weapon and in a frock.

„Aye.“ Rhaegar says with a hint of a smile. „It is a compliment.“

This admission alone was enough for Lyanna to blush, yet she wouldn't admit it in a million years. Instead, she set on battling the heavy fabric of her gown; even if she'd successfully pulled it over her head, the laces on her back remained unfastened still. Lyanna reached back, but found them more challenging than those on most of her dresses. These damnable Southron frocks.

„Come here.“ Rhaegar says, noting her discomfort. He settled on his knees on the edge of the bed where she approached, and Lyanna soon felt practiced fingers pluck at the laces, as if they were harp strings themselves. Then, it were his hands that cradled her hips while he placed a kiss to the uncovered part of her back. Lyanna grinned.

„You're supposed to be dressing me, not undressing me.“ She remarked, only half jesting.                  

„I apologize, my lady knight.“ He quietly chuckled into her back. „I got distracted, I suppose. Though it should be noted,“ he says, „one must first unfasten the laces in order to tighten them properly.“ He demonstrated his point by pulling on the ends of them then, perfectly fastening her dress in a single move.

„You know, you do that better than my handmaidens.“ Lyanna said with some cheek. She turned, then bit on her lip with mischief. „Perhaps I should hire you into my service.“

„Perhaps you should.“ He returns in kind, softly smiling. „Just say the word; I will be your handmaiden if you want me to be, I'll be anything you like.“

Lyanna grinned, now moving to kiss her husband for being so wonderfully indulgent, but a knock on the doors interrupts them.

„Your Grace.“ The midwife says, her ability to curtsey impeded by the wailing Jon in her arms. Lyanna's eyes flitted to her son with immediate concern; she approached quickly, taking Jon from the other woman. He still cried, but a bit softer now that it was she who held him; it were little whimpers of discomfort that escaped him, rather than actual wails. Lyanna leaned in to brush her lips against his brow; at least he did not seem to have a fever, thank the Gods. It had been odd for him to cry at all; he never did, he was the most quiet babe and thus Lyanna feared something serious might be amiss. She felt Rhaegar's hand rest against the small of her back as the midwife spoke.

„Your Grace, we believe he may be teething. 'Tis completely natural, if painful for the babe. We wouldn't have normally bothered you, 'tis only he'd been whimpering since the hour of the wolf and no one else could calm him down...“

 „You did well to bring him.“ Lyanna says. Oh her sweet babe, it must have been plenty of discomfort that he suffered if he allowed himself to weep so freely. Yet, he calmed now; nestling into her breast, he almost immediately fell asleep. He must have not slept last night at all.

„We should keep him here.“ Rhaegar says softly, looming above both their heads as protection. Then, to the midwife. „Order to have his cradle returned to the queen's chambers.“

„Yes, Your Grace.“ The midwife murmurs.

Lyanna looked to her slumbering Jon, then to Rhaegar, as if to silently ask him whether or not she was bound to stay. In turn, Rhaegar slowly retrieved their sleeping son from her arms, and indeed, Jon kept on slumbering, pink cheek now pressed against his father's chest.

For some reason, Lyanna's heart thumped oddly as she looked on to the sight of a long, silvery lock tumbling down from Rhaegar's shoulder and to his chest, only for their babe to weakly grab onto it through his slumber.

„I can keep an eye on him for an hour or so.“ Rhaegar assures. „I only have a council meeting later.“

Lyanna gave a nod; Jon did love his father so, and if there was anyone's presence that could calm him like hers could, it had to be Rhaegar's.

She softly kissed Jon's forehead, mindful not to wake him, and then she kissed her husband's lips.

„Call for me though, if you need me.“ She instructed, imploring him with serious grey eyes. Rhaegar himself responded with a comforting smile; he lifted his free hand, gently stroking it against the side of her face. „I promise, the two of us shall manage.“ He said seriously. „Do not fret, my sweet.“

In turn, Lyanna kissed the inside of his wrist; picking up her skirts, she only sent one last smile to the beautiful sight of Rhaegar, and their babe, snuggled in his arms. 

* * *

 

By the time Lyanna arrived, Ser Jaime on her heels,  the large table in the Great Hall had already been occupied safe for a single seat at the far end of it, one that suggested she was most late. She forced a strained smile on her face as she moved forward; her eyes took note of the fact that the seats beside her own were taken by Ashara on the left, and, annoyingly enough, Cersei Lannister on the right.

 _Wonderful,_ Lyanna thought, without a way for her face to show it. Instead, she kept making strides that she hoped were graceful enough until she stood at the edge of the table, where she cleared her throat. Ser Jaime was right behind her.

 „My ladies.“ Lyanna addressed the gathered women, and any head decorated by a heavy hairstyle that wasn't turned to her was now.

 „First of all, I would like to offer my apologies for arriving late; Prince Jon awoke discomforted this morning, and thus required my attention.“ This seemed to provoke a worried expression on most of the women's faces, and Lyanna for a moment wondered if it was feigned. Somehow, it appeared not to be. Jon was genuinely loved by all of court, perhaps for the fact he had no teeth yet unlike his mother.

It is Cersei Lannister that speaks then, the annoying frequence of her voice springing on Lyanna's right. „Oh my, I do hope our Prince Jon is well. Is he, Your Grace?“ There was an expectant lilt in her voice as if she would be most pleased to hear her say no. Lyanna turned her head to her and forced her lips into a thin line.

„Oh, he is most well now. It only seemed he craved the comfort of his parents, but he is in his father's care now so I am certain he is satisfied.“

This seemed to shut up the lioness, as well as elicit wistful sighs from the other women in the crowd, as if Rhaegar needed any more help in being adored by them. Lyanna hadn't even sat down, and already she felt her blood pressure rising.

„My ladies.“ She called once more, snapping back their heads to her. „As I am sure you know, the newborn Princess Daenerys turned a moon old recently and this breakfast is held in her honor. Also, I would like to use this opportunity to mention the fact Ned...“ _Not Ned, stupid. Lord Eddard Stark,_ the thought came. „my brother, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell is set to wed the Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun in three days.“

With that, Lyanna sat down, taking comfort in the fact most ladies set to whisper amongst themselves now, having taken their eyes off her. She was just about to set on eating some food in relative peace when that voice on her right sprung up again, and louder than needed.

„Oh, Your Grace, I must say it is so regretful that Princess Daenerys isn't here among us as well.“ Cersei paused then, as if building up to some conclusion, and Lyanna saw vague agreement on the other women's faces. „We would be so thrilled to see her; Gods know when another prince or a princess may be born.“

Lyanna swallowed hard; her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress yet she did not allow herself to speak or rather shout. _That damnable..._ Yet, Lyanna was born off ice, and if she had to be it, she would be ice itself.

She forced another smile on her face, and in the most honeyed voice she could muster, asked. „What makes you say that, Lady Cersei?“

Cersei herself bore a smile on her face, one that might have seemed genuine to exactly no one who knew her. „Well, Your Grace, you understand how these things go. The Queen Dowager is unfortunately widowed now, and well, your own predicament is well known to all of court. I daresay we may not expect any more dragonlings until Prince Viserys himself comes of age and marries.“

Or until you marry Rhaegar, Lyanna wanted to finish her sentence. Instead, she remained cool, still keeping that smile plastered onto her face. „Lady Cersei, I must tell you you have been terribly misinformed. 'My predicament' is little more than ill-based rumor. I very much intend to give Prince Jon siblings.“

Cersei's green eyes flashed with defiance. „But Grand Maester Pycelle...“

Lyanna cuts her off.„Grand Maester Pycelle has already been wrong when it came to matters of mine own health, and his evaluation is tentative at best. I have faith in my own family history, no Stark woman ever bore any less than three children.“

Cersei seemed on the brink of mentioning that Lyanna's own mother died in childbed, she could see the calculations behind her ruthless green gaze as plain as day. Yet, she decides against it, and merely blinks like a doll whose strings are pulled too hard.

Lyanna felt a short sense of satisfaction at this, yet still knew her cheeks to be flustered and reddened, and even more as her gaze flitted up briefly, taking in the mute expressions of everyone who observed their thinly veiled fight. Lyanna might have had the last word but it was her life that was in question here, her own place that was scrutinized and the lioness had very little to lose from this. Was this what the rest of Lyanna's life in court would be? Scrambling for the shattered remnants of her dignity every time someone dared mention her empty womb? Not unless she allowed it.

The breakfast soon enough drew to a close, yet Lyanna did not move between then and now. Only when Cersei herself stirred to leave did Lyanna reach out a hand, and stilled her by her wrist discreetly enough that no others noticed.

„You may leave, Ser Jaime.“ Lyanna said behind gritted teeth. She did not need him meddling in this.

„But, Your Grace-“

„You may leave.“

She felt a confused glance exchanged between the siblings, yet she did not care. It was only once Ser Jaime left, with the white armor clattering off in increasing distance that Lyanna allowed the full extent of her emotions come to front. If she had been ice so far, a winter storm whirled within her now, desperately pushing against her insides for a way out.

She did not quite recall how it happened, but soon enough, Cersei Lannister stood with her back against the wall and Lyanna's own hand clutched at her throat. This pressure seemed too easy to achieve; Lyanna almost had to try not to strangle her, that was how angry she felt. It were Cersei's gasping tries for breath that made this all the more satisfying. „Jaime,“ she breathily whispered, her own hand trying to remove the pressure from her throat yet she was weaker than her, or perhaps it was just that Lyanna was angrier. And without her brother, the lioness was less a lion and more a trembling, frightened fish. „My queen.“ she mouths next, yet the words barely come out.

Not wanting her to pass out, Lyanna lessened her hold then, yet did not fully release her. „My queen...“ Cersei gasped frantically for breath. Lyanna lifted her chin, making her look at her again.

„Listen to me, and listen well. If you do that again, any of that again, if you presume to dare to speak about me or my son, I swear it to the Gods, I will finish what I started here today. Do you understand me?“

Cersei only nodded soundlessly, eyes wide though she was well within her capacity to speak again. Lyanna pulled away her hand, and Cersei's own hands wrapped against the redness of her throat, eyes blinking away. „Yes...“ she breathed finally, still straining. 

Lyanna thought it a good outcome; had she tried to deny anything or continue playing her little court game, Lyanna did not know how well she would control herself. Sighing, it was only now that her veins slowly drained off the heat that previously coursed within them, and Lyanna felt calm. The lioness would surely seek revenge, yet Lyanna did not care, she did not cower. She did not speak, only gave one last icy stare to Cersei to reinforce her promise. 

* * *

 

It was only with night, and every passing minute of Rhaegar's absence, that Lyanna felt shame.

She sat atop her bed, her hands limp in her lap given that she had long ago both dressed down to her nightgown and brushed her hair. Lyanna would not go to sleep and Jon was already content and fed, slumbering in the antechamber, thus she remained; sitting, thinking, feeling, and most of all, ignoring the glaring emptiness in her room.

Someone surely must have told him, Rhaegar, of what transpired today between Cersei and herself, and now he was miffed with her at best, and disappointed at worst. There was little other emotion she dreaded provoking within Rhaegar so, and now, with her imprudent behavior, she surely would. 

 _Bad wolf_ , she would say of herself, yet what wolf cared for such assessment. Lyanna put little thought into her actions until after everything had already been said and done, instead allowing her own instincts to come to front. She seemed to remember her late lord father warning against it.  _„Some people have the right instincts, some do not,“_ he would say. _„Some can afford to act immediately, others are best advised to sit down and think first. I fear you and Brandon are of the latter sort.“_  And of course, Brandon never learned, and neither did Lyanna.

Lyanna still so vividly recalled the other day, how her husband rose her hand to his lips, told her she was his queen, and how she wanted to feel worthy of the admiration she saw in his eyes for that. Rhaegar had been exceedingly patient with her in this matter, never pushing her, never chastising her, never saying one word of it to her. She could not bear the thought of being a disappointment to him; Lyanna would rather have the entire court openly despising her than her dragonprince, her lover resenting her. And even more, if she was to lose her usefulness in anyway else... It was a discomforting thought, thus Lyanna quickly pushed it out of her mind.

The doors open, then close; Lyanna became alert, yet did not turn her head to the disturbance.

It was only with her husband's touch on her shoulders,  _gentle touch,_ she noted, that Lyanna shifted on her knees, and finally brought herself to guiltily meet his eye.

„I heard what happened today,“ was the first thing Rhaegar said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

Lyanna's shoulders inadvertently slumped; yet wide-eyed she studied his features still, in hope of gauging just how upset with her he truly was. Despite of it, she could see little more than the same neutrality his voice bore.

She licked her lips to speak what little she could as excuse, but it was then that Rhaegar frowned, and his thumb came to touch to the smallest scratch Lyanna bore on her cheek. It was consequence of what little Cersei could do in her defence.

What is this?“ He asked unhappily. „Are you well otherwise?“

Lyanna furrowed her brows. „Am  _I_  well? Are you sure you know what happened?“ 

Rhaegar sighed. „Lady Cersei came to speak to me today.“ He confirmed. „It is my understanding she sustained no injuries, safe for the one to her pride. It was she who personally sought me out to share with me her account of what happened this morning. So, I ask once more, are you well?“

Lyanna wasn't sure how to respond to this. Aye, in body she was well, yet there was this sense of blame gnawing at her from the inside, from the same spot where once rage took place, its flames flaring up and consuming her. She wasn't even certain it had been for what she did, or rather, for who she had been when she did it.

„I know what I did was unseemly.“ Lyanna begins guiltily. „I know that is no way to behave for a queen. But, oh Rhaegar, I just couldn't help it. She was just sitting there, all smug, and saying all these things about me and Jon, and I just...“

 „Hush, sweetling, hush.“ Rhaegar insisted; his eyes were kind, and his hand came to stroke at the side of her face in further consolation. Lyanna breathed with relief, grateful for this comfort. He did truly, he believed her.

Then, Rhaegar gave a sigh. „I quite assumed so from the beginning, that she must have done something to provoke you. It is why I wanted to talk to you first.“

 „First?“ Lyanna asks cautiously. „What do you mean, what comes next? You won't throw me in the dungeons for this, will you?“ She asked this almost in jest, yet his face did not seem to light up accordingly.

Rhaegar exhaled. „Not the dungeons, granted but I fear you may find this even more disagreeable. Tywin Lannister himself came to make a request to me as my Master of Coin; he wants you to publicly apologize to his daughter for attacking her.“

Lyanna's eyes widen at first, but then she averts them. „No.“ she says steadily. „I know that I was wrong in how I reacted, but it was she who provoked me, and intentionally, Rhaegar I am sure of it. No. I am not apologizing unless she apologizes to me first, which I doubt she has any intention of doing.“ Perhaps Lyanna was wrong in this also, and it was her pride that stood in the way, but she was also a Stark of Winterfell, and she would not cower by offering an apology she didn't even mean. Yet, Lyanna felt bad and Lyanna wanted to apologize, only not to that damnable Lannister woman, and much less so before that insufferable court. She could not do it; any further insistence from Rhaegar would only make her feel worse, but so be it.

She did not even notice Rhaegar had already begun speaking.

„Lyanna, my sweet.“ He intones, trying to regain her attention. Lyanna turned her bleary eyes to him. 

„Are you certain you're well?“ Rhaegar asks, now frowning with concern. „You appear frazzled.“

Lyanna shook her head no, prompting him to speak.

„As I was saying, I have no intention of making you do this. I will decline this before Tywin Lannister, and privately apologize to him in your name; hopefully, that will be the end of this matter.“

Lyanna breathed with relief; her heart became larger than itself at the thought of her dragonknight believing her, of understanding. Yet, Lyanna was also aware that most of the time when Rhaegar looked at her, he did so through the thick sheen of love he held for her. But for how long would that last if she would keep on disappointing him?

„Lyanna?“ He inquired in a single word, likely noting the dramatic mood change that Lyanna herself had been overwhelmed with. She thought for a moment she may weep.

„You need to know I truly am sorry.“ She lets him know instead. „I am not sorry for what I did to that woman, for Gods know she had it coming. But I am sorry I acted in such fashion, for I know how such things reflect on you. Please, forgive me.“

„Hush, Lyanna, my sweet. All is well, there is little to forgive.“ Rhaegar said, but she barely heard him, moving to rest against his chest where she released her burning tears. He seemed to have understood words would have little effect on this for he said little else, only his hand came to rest into her hair belatedly, while the other came to rest upon the bare part of her back. He would always know not to speak, to simply hold her and love her when she was upset; and how could she possibly be anything less than devastated at the thought of losing this?

„I am truly sorry.“ Lyanna mumbled into his chest once her tears had slowed. „I want to be a good queen for you, I do. I promise, I will do better.“ Lyanna had to and Lyanna would. 

She had not been as self-centered as to think her behavior alone could cause or stop a war, but any efforts on her part certainly could not hurt. It was Rhaella's voice that was in her head since this morning; kings were meant to be feared, and queens were meant to be loved, and only thus could they rule together. Yet, it was Rhaegar who was loved by all, and plenty more than he was feared, while Lyanna had been the one endangering the physical safety of ladies that were to be under her protection. Many said that he deserved a better queen than she had been, and Lyanna started fearing they may be right.

Rhaegar's hand was still moving in her hair, the fingers she knew to be long and elegant threading there, soothing her. Yet, he pulled away now, causing her sticky face to pull apart from his tunic too.

„I will not hear anymore of this.“ He tells her firmly. „I do not want you to do anything that taxes on you so greatly.“ Saying this, Rhaegar pinned her with strict eyes, thus Lyanna herself felt urged to give a nod.

„Besides,“ Rhaegar's voice continued lighter. „I knew what I was getting myself into when I married you. A wolf-pup can grow into little other than a she-wolf.“

Lyanna couldn't suppress the urge for laughter, but then she playfully pushed against his chest. She had been here, laying out all her insecurities and tears to him and he had the gall to make fun of her for it.

„Which brings me to ask,“ Rhaegar continues. „What was it exactly that you did to Lady Cersei? She seemed equal part frightened and slighted when she came to lament in my office, and yet people commonly say lions bruise their pride easier than anything else.“

„I may have,“ Lyanna begins quietly. „promised to throttle her like a fish if she ever spoke of me or our family again.“ She shyly bit her lip, then looked up once more. „I may have even demonstrated just what that sort of thing would look like.“

„My lady knight.“ Rhaegar warns, yet in a tone that was mock reprimand at most. He seemed to be holding back a smile, but he pursed his lips, regaining his regal appearance once again. „While, as king, this may not be appropriate for me to admit, I shall have to say in part I regret not witnessing this. Where was Ser Jaime during all of this, if I may ask?“

„I sent him away.“ Lyanna admitted in a low voice.

„You do realize that is admission of premeditation?“ Rhaegar asks frowning, yet somehow not. „As king, well, I fear I have no other choice but to go to the king about this.“ 

Lyanna grinned; for some reason, he had been strangely amused by this matter - something Lyanna did not fully understand, yet still greatly felt compelled to appreciate him for it. 

„You could try, but the king is all mine,“ was all she said before she jumped him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him. Oh, she simply had to do it; Lyanna often experienced her most intense emotions – sadness, love, joy quickly shifting from one to other, merely retaining intensity. This happened now as well, and Lyanna did not see a reason to hold back. 

In turn, Rhaegar smiled and his hands immediately came to craddle her thighs; by all accounts he had been surprised, yet not surprised enough not to return the favor.

 


	5. In Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry for the delay with this. Hope you like it :)

 

Out of all things Jaime Lannister would have assumed of Lyanna Stark, being pious was not one of them.

Yet, here they were, among the relics of the gods of her ancestral home, between dark trunks and the sneering faces carved into them, promising doom. The sight had unsettled Jaime. It ought to have been unsettling for any man, he reckoned, but the Northerners were strange creatures, and it seemed the queen was strange even by those standards. 

She had explained it to him once even—that she did not pray to her gods for the sake of praying—rather that merely dwelling within the protective spirit of a godswood made her feel closer to home. Jaime did not understand it then, and he feared he never would. There was little to be missed at his own home, Jaime rarely considered the place with longing. He did miss Tyrion at times, but it seemed the queen's own homesickness wasn't tied as much to the family she had left in the North, but rather the North itself; he could imagine her cherishing every wheat of grass and every tree on her return. Perhaps it was just that the North was an entity for itself, unlike any other, while the South and West carried no comparable differences.

Praying to the Old Gods was quite simple—it involved kneeling at the simplest stone altar, and speaking to the tree above you. No septs or septons, no statues, no songs as far as Jaime knew. Just you, the weirwood, and the unsettling face carved into it. 

He stopped a dozen feet or so away from the heart tree, where the queen approached. He wouldn't have even known the name of it had the queen not so kindly informed him on one of the previous occasions she had made this visit followed by his protection. Regardless, Jaime stood and waited, supposedly providing privacy to the queen who preferred praying aloud, though praying in silence could have sufficed them both. Yet, Jaime did not complain, he had no desire for coming any closer.

The queen would often do these sorts of things—it seemed she had a remarkable need for sharing her thoughts—much like some men craved silence above all else, she could not stand it. She would speak to anyone who would listen, and then some. She spoke to her guards, she spoke to her babe as if he were already a prince grown, she even spoke to her horse, so what was a tree to be added to the list as well?

From the distance, Jaime saw her gather her hands in her lap as she knelt, and close her eyelids. Her voice was little more than a low whisper, yet the winds typically whirling within the crowns of the trees were unusually silent on this day, and Jaime heard every word.

The queen prayed for her family's health and happiness first and foremost, quite a typical plea if Jaime ever heard one. Going further into specifics, she prayed that her brother Ned and Catelyn Tully may find bliss in each other and within their marriage, and she also prayed for her other brother, Benjen to be protected during his lifelong service at the Wall. The Wall, the place thieves and rapists preferred only to death, was, strangely enough, a point of prestige for a Stark to inhabit. She prayed for Brandon as well, yet in a brighter tone, asking the Old Gods to allow him to settle and keep his wolfsblood from boiling.

It was then that the queen's husky voice lowered into a tentative, almost vulnerable whisper he could not discern further, her brows furrowed slightly and a hand came to thoughtfully rest against her lower belly. By this gesture alone, Jaime could very well guess what it was that she prayed for.

Then, she rose from her knees, and opened her grey eyes, allowing them to fall on Jaime's own. This does not last long, however, for soon, her gaze averted and her slender figure started flailing, only remaining standing thanks to a hand supporting her against the trunk of the tree. Jaime began moving forward in a hurrying step; he was fast enough in his approach that the queen's complete loss of consciousness only served her landing in his arms.

Watching to her unconscious expression, Jaime recalled this happening once before, yet this occasion was none so critical. It was more like the queen's breakfast did not agree with her.

 

* * *

 

By the time Jaime shifted over her slight weight into the king's arms, Lyanna had already begun jolting back to consciousness.

„Rhaegar?“ He heard her croak weakly, only for her husband to lean in, brush his lips against her temple and assure her in the softest, sweetest voice how all was well, and she was not to exert herself. She obeyed, head now leaned against his chest in silence; it was only a pale hand clinging to his shoulder that gave away any trace of consciousness.

Rhaegar seemed thoroughly unburdened the entire time of the wait for the maester—he'd given no evidence of physical strain, only mental as he leaned in occasionally to brush his lips against the top of her head or whisper words of reassurance in her hair, how he was there and she was going to be well, words that were not for Jaime to hear yet in the empty hallway he heard them regardless. The words weren't for her either, he realized, they were for Rhaegar himself. Lost in his fretting, he had not even considered laying her flat on the bed until Pycelle came and suggested it so he may examine her. 

After that, the king is seen out, and the doors to the queen's chambers close.

The typically calm and collected Rhaegar, graceful in all his movements soon enough began pacing back and forth, nervously chewing on his lip and clenching and unclenching his fists, as subtle as he tried to make it look. _He is worried._ Jaime realizes. _He is trying not to be, but he is._

Watching him like this, Jaime felt like he'd encroached on some fairly intimate realization about the man. It wasn't as if his wife was in the birthing chambers, or that Pycelle gave any, even slightest cause for concern, it had been a mere case of swooning and for gods know which trivial reason, yet the king could do little but look like the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders and only the news of her well-being would lift it away. He truly loved this woman, and more. Jaime wondered what was the appropriate name for it, for gods knew lesser things were called love.

It was often said, and truthfully, that his own lord father ceased any habit of smiling with the death of his lady wife. He could see a similar notion holding true for Rhaegar if something ill were to come to pass this woman.

After ten minutes or so, Pycelle emerges from her chambers, his weakly, old form dragging across the floor. Rhaegar himself stops his pacing, instead he fixes his indigo eyes to the man, already anticipating an explanation.

„Your Grace.“ Pycelle drawls in his sickly voice. Then, he briefly glances at Jaime, with unknowable cause. It seemed, however, Rhaegar had no patience for his tarrying.

„Do speak, Grand Maester Pycelle.“ He prompted the man.

„Yes, of course, Your Grace.“ Pycelle agrees wearily. Rhaegar only slightly leaned forward, as if to absorb any information as soon as possible after it has been released.

 „Your Grace, I must say the queen appears to be of good health.“

At this, it seemed some of the tension abandoned Rhaegar in form of a sigh, yet not all of it. He licks his lips, then asks. „What would you say was the cause of fainting then, Grand Maester?“

„Well, Your Grace.“ Pycelle mutters. „As much as it surprises me to say it, it appears I have been wrong. The queen is, beyond shadow of a doubt, with child. You see, the fainting was merely a consequence of the exhaustion carrying causes the body...“ Pycelle kept on with the explanation, incoherently mumbling to himself though it was obvious no one around him cared.

Rhaegar blinks once, then twice, by all accounts he is stunned. He cuts him off. „With child? Are you certain of this, Grand Maester?“

„Beyond shadow of a doubt.“ Pycelle repeats.

Jaime wondered if all prayers directed to the Old Gods were satisfied so quickly. 

 

* * *

 

„She is pregnant!“ Cersei seethed. „The damnable wolf-bitch, how did she manage to get pregnant, once again?“

„Would you calm down?“ Jaime insisted in return. „It's not really something under your control.“

„But it is. It will be. It has to be.“ Cersei fiercely assured. She averts her emerald eyes, yet Jaime sees the mild disgust that had flared up in them. „That old blabbering fool, Pycelle, told me, he first swore to me that if she drank that potion, she would bear a stillborn, yet she gave birth to a healthy prince. Then he assured me that was but an unfortunate fluke, and that she would never bear another child. He first said she was truly barren, but once he realized she was not, he promised to make sure she wouldn't remain with child anyway. And now after all of this, she is pregnant! If she gives him another child, another _son_ , then he will have absolutely no reason to cast her aside.“

„He will never cast her aside anyway.“ Jaime says, as if his sole purpose in life was to provoke her. „You are too late, sister dear. He already loves her, and Rhaegar is not the kind of a man to flip on something like that overnight.“

„I do not care if he loves her.“ Cersei insists. „He is king. If the circumstances call for it, he will have to cast her aside, no matter his own feelings on it. And out of sight, out of mind. Once he is mine, I will make him love me, and I will make him never look any other way.“

„This fantasy of yours assumes a lot of things, sister dear.“ Jaime speaks slowly, closing in on her. Cersei did not like the half-mad look he was giving her, she did not like to see him desperate. Yet he did not let her pull away, and soon she bumped into a wall. „It assumes Rhaegar cares about these kingdoms more than he does her, or that he cares about anything more than he does her, which you would be well served to know could not be further from the truth.“ His lips curled into a cunning sneer. „ Take it from me, I am the one who stands at her doors nightly as he fucks her, and eagerly as well.“

„Let me go.“ Cersei growled, trying to free herself from the grasp his hands had on hers but she couldn't. „He will love me, he will want to make love to me, I know he will. I know he will marry me. You are just jealous-“

„Maybe I am.“ Jaime's eyes narrowed as he pulled even closer, forcing her to look at him. „ But I am still right. Even if he took you as wife instead or in addition to her, you think that would change a thing? That he would send her away? You are gravely mistaken, sister dear. Last time there was a thorn in their marriage, Rhaegar shipped off his own daughter, his flesh and blood to Dorne to live with her uncles, and before that, his own mother to his dragon castle. She waves a hand here, and a carriage is already there to pull away any disturbance, whether they like it or not.“Jaime was still fixing her hotly and coolly with his gaze all at once, and Cersei's own green gaze widened; she did not like it, anymore than she liked his meaning. „There is nothing he wouldn't do to keep her ,and even if, by some miracle you became his wife, you would be no more than a decoration on the wall, who he would perhaps take only enough pity on to leave with a child or two - you know, so that his advisors, namely Jon Connington would stop whining, before he returned into her beds.“

A chill rode up Cersei's spine with these words, as she listened to them so plainly, so ruthlessly laid before her by her own brother.

 What if Jaime was right? Was it worth it then, after all the efforts to end up playing second fiddle to the wolf-bitch for the rest of her life? After all, Cersei knew what it was like to drive a man so crazy he saw nothing except when he looked at you, at which point his whole life would blaze and enrich before his very eyes. That was what she was to Jaime, she knew. He knew it as well. He knew how it felt. That was why he could see it in Rhaegar.

„I just want to be queen.“ She found herself mumbling. Jaime was so close now, the flesh of her flesh, her mirror image, her twin, and Cersei could not ignore the comfort he could give her. She tightened her fists around his collar and pulled. „I just want to be queen. I always wanted this, I was always supposed to have this. You know it.“

„I know.“He says evenly. „Sometimes we don't get what we want.“

„Oh but I do. Please Jaime.“ She begs of him, runs a hand down the side of his face, the face as handsome as her own was beautiful. „I don't care if he loves me, just make me queen.“

Cersei still wasn't fully reconciled with losing Rhaegar to that unruly woman, or to any woman for that matter, but she knew that was partly her bruised pride talking. Even if he didn't, even if her intended husband never loved her, then at least she would have power sufficient to take any anguish over it out on both him and Lyanna Stark. Right now, she had nothing, and a bitter victory was better than no victory at all.

She brushed her lips against her lover's, her brother's neck, forcing her voice into a low, convincing whisper. „If you do this, if you help me, then I can stay here and we can be together. Otherwise, Father will marry me off to Gods know who, and you will see me once every couple of years if we are lucky. Rhaegar can keep his wolf-bitch to himself if he so wants, but you and I, we would have one another, as it always was.“ This offer was most tempting to him, Cersei knew. Oh Jaime, her Jaime, he was always hers, and she was always his. She becomes even more certain of it as the signs of struggle behind his eyes finally break up.

 „What do you need me to do?“ he asks.

„Kill her son, or kill her. I am not sure which is better. Kill them both.“

Jaime scowls. „Are you insane? Do you want to see my head on a spike? Rhaegar might have placed his trust in me but he is not that naive—“

„Nay, of course not.“ Cersei concedes. „You are right, it is too dangerous to do it now. I do not want you to do anything that would risk your life.“ Jaime is not sure he believes her.

„We will find another way.“ She assures. „The two of us, we will find another way to be together.“

 


	6. Breed

 

After the news had been imparted on him, Rhaegar wanted little else than to see Lyanna.

When he had finally reached her bedside, her grin was wider than wide, her eyes sparkled with joy, and her usually pale cheeks were washed over by a lovely blush. She had shown little desire for conversation, only laughed and smiled and thrilled in her happiness, and then pulling him to her as soon as she had the chance. 

She had always been a sensing, living creature in a way Rhaegar could not even dream of being, yet, being with child seemed to have exacerbated this further. Her skin was softer, her eyes shone brighter, and her lips were quicker and more eager to offer affection. Perhaps by these facts alone, Rhaegar should have suspected her condition sooner than any maester, yet the certainty with which the Grand Maester assured of her inability to further birth children kept the conclusion away from his mind.

The notion that the Grand Maester had been wrong on this account, it had most certainly been a blessing for the both of them, and perhaps even more so for Lyanna. Despite her trying to conceal this from him, he would often note the mist in her eyes, or the twinge of melancholy in her voice paired with motherly pride as Jon's own progress in growth became apparent. Even if she had been shy before him with respect to this, he could very well see she yearned for another babe, and was much wounded by the thought of not having another. Wanting her only to forever be happy, Rhaegar was grateful to find this not to be true.

The rest of that day was spent much in bliss; Rhaegar had been only too glad to labor in desire of pleasing her, until exhaustion took its toll, and saw them both off to the beginnings of sleep. It were Jon's cries from the antechamber that had presented a distraction from much desired rest.

No doubt, he had awoken in search of milk, yet, looking at Lyanna beside himself, her expression calm and she herself serenely asleep, Rhaegar hesitated waking her, instead choosing to tend to their babe in his own limited capacity.

Grey eyes open wide, his son wrinkled his little nose at him, as if to comment on his mother's absence.

„Do not fret, my little prince.“ Rhaegar spoke to him gently. „Your mother is merely asleep; she is growing another sister or a brother for you, thus we shall let her have her rest. Let us see if we can find a wet nurse.“

With the help of a servant, they have been largely successful in this. Upon entrusting his son to the young woman, Rhaegar retreated for the night, returning to the bed he shared with Lyanna.

The next morrow had him awaken to empty sheets and the sound of retching, coming from the washroom. Then, it was Lyanna that emerged, her complexion pale and dark circles under her eyes despite the night she spent in undisturbed sleep.

„Are you well, my sweet?“ Rhaegar asked concernedly, noting this.  

Lyanna first gave a little sigh, then padded over to his side of the bed, where she rested a hand against his cheek. „I must tell you, our babe is already a little terror. This one is all on me, I reckon. I fear to wonder how it will be when it is all grown up.“

Rhaegar smiled, imagining a little boy or a girl with its mother's dark curls and stormy eyes, and a stormy temper to match. Jon himself may have been the spitting image of his mother, but he very much inherited Rhaegar's own inclinations toward silence. Somehow, either scenario and combination between them seemed to have carried with itself a sort of charm.

„Either way, I will love him or her, as long as it is our babe.“ He voices, lifting her hand to place a kiss to the back of it. In turn, Lyanna's eyes narrowed into a loving stare. Then, she asked.

„Speaking of which, I must ask, what have you done with our first babe? He is not in his crib.“

„Worry not, my sweet; I entrusted him to the wet nurse last night.“ Rhaegar explains. „The little lad had been hungry. Tell me-„ he starts then, his concern flaring up within him again. „will you be well by yourself today for a couple of hours? I have a council meeting, but if I make an effort, I could be back in time for us to have lunch.“

Lyanna smiled, clearly pleased with the idea of spending the day together. Given his commitments, it had been a rare treat, and one worth cherishing. 

She happily imparted a kiss on him before he rose to his full height, and doing so, embraced her. They have always fit just perfectly like this, her curly head nestled under his chin, and her thin arms holding to him around his waist, tight enough that he could never mistake her for indifference even when her face he did not see. Now, she tilted her head forward, and he tarried for an instant thus, just kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair.Then, he himself left for the washroom.

With his departure, It was a stack of letters that claimed Lyanna's attention; she padded over to the nightstand and there went through the stack with gentle fingers, finally finding the one with the direwolf sigil pressed into the wax. She sat at the edge of her bed, and unfolded the paper.

By the handwriting, she had already known the sender to be Ned, but it is not until she is halfway through the letter than an unbidden smile rises to her lips.

„Rhaegar!“ she calls for her husband, who in return prompts, his voice muffled by the stone wall between them.

„What is it, my sweet?“

„Cat and Ned are expecting a babe as well. Cat is pregnant.“

„That is wonderful, my sweet.“ Her husband calls back.

And it was. Lyanna could not help but be delighted by the idea; Ned, dearest, old, solemn Ned, the most serious of them all, was going to be a father. And, that could only mean Ned and Cat were in a good place with each other now, though Lyanna knew they both dreaded their arranged marriage before the fact. Also...

„Did you hear that, my dearest?“ Lyanna asked, addressing the unborn babe in her belly. „You will have a cousin just of age with you.“ It had been a joyous thought, almost as wonderful as the fact her wish had been granted in the first place, and that there indeed was a promise of life within her, instead of the bleak future of failure that she so feared.

Little answer could be expected to this, but nonetheless, a well-timed sound of fussing from the crib attracted Lyanna's attention. Could it have been that the wet-nurse had returned Jon, and Lyanna, in all her newfound glee given the news didn't notice?

She rose to her feet, and walked over, hands already prepared to reach for her babe and hold him, but the sight within the crib terrified her instead.

Not able to help herself, she let out a little scream as she jumped back, bringing out a concerned Rhaegar out of the washroom.

„What happened, my sweet?“ He asked, tense expression suggesting he was fully prepared to hold her if she was to swoon again. Hopefully, she would not.

She pointed toward the crib. „There is...there's-„  Lyanna aimed for a higher level of specificity, but failed in this. „a creature there.“

„A creature?“ Rhaegar returned in inquiry. Not wasting any time, he moved forward to the crib, to see what it was that his wife was speaking of. What he found before himself was nearly unbelievable, to the extent Rhaegar blinked a couple of times just to make sure his eyes weren't playing a trick on him. And indeed, the sight of the black dragon hatchling did not disappear, and neither did the broken remnants of the shell he hatched from.

Since his birth that marked the great Tragedy of Summerhall, Rhaegar had been raised with the knowledge that dragons were gone, never to return, and that any and every attempt at reviving the mythical line could only be met with failure and death. He had never, even in his most daring dreams imagined this had been possible. Yet the truth was lain before him, plain as day, and only questions remained. How? Why?

„Rhaegar?“ Lyanna's voice inquired by his side, snapping him back to reality.

„Not a creature.“ Rhaegar gently corrected. „A dragon.“ He noted dreamily. He barely tore away from Jon's crib, yet with a confused Lyanna in sight, he found it easy to fix his eyes on her instead. Rhaegar wanted nothing more than to laugh, lift her in his arms and twirl her around in the air in celebration, yet he supposed that wouldn't bode well considering her morning sickness.

He put his hands on her shoulders instead, and repeated his meaning. „Lya, my love, it is a dragon.“ 

„What?“ She asked with innocence. She had been much baffled, as was he, yet he had been none so adorable in this.

He attempted at a levelheaded explanation, yet instead an overjoyed laugh escaped him. „It is a dragon! Our son hatched his very own dragon.“

Only now did the connection occur to him; there had been plenty a scribbling that linked dragons and Targaryen babes, there had even existed an ancient custom of gifting every newborn prince or princess with a dragon egg of their own. Rhaegar now understood this had been more than a mere symbolic procedure spanned over the generations, it was an integral part in the process of hatching. Yet, that was not the entirety of it, it couldn't have been. If it was indeed thus, certainly others would have noted and attempted this sooner. He needed to learn more about this. He needed to return to the prophecy. There was no doubt in his mind any longer, this had been the overwhelming, most convincing piece of evidence he would ever get of the fact that Jon was indeed the Promised Prince. Yet, the prophecy spoke little of dragons, and even where it did, to interpret the word as referring to a human of Targaryen ancestry was common. It had never occurred to him, that the prophecy indeed hinted at the reawakening of dragons from stone.

„I must leave now, my love.“ He announced, trying to contain the full extent of his excitement. „I shall be busy for the remainder of this day. I must investigate this matter further.“

„Rhaegar Targaryen, don't you dare up and leave me alone with this...beast.“ Lyanna finished for herself, for by the time she had gotten her words out, Rhaegar had already disappeared from earshot.

Lyanna had been fully intent on staying as away from that crib as possible for the remainder of the day, yet the creature— _dragon_ , she reminded herself,  seemed to be moving, unsuccessfully flapping its little wings and her curiosity got the better of her. Lyanna approached, letting out a little gasp as she dared peak once more over the threshold of the crib. By the gods, she took in the entire sight of it, its tail, small like the rest of him yet still proportionally large to its body, the black scales on his back that were mere notches now yet Lyanna did not doubt they would grow to be utterly large and sharp.

The dragonbabe screeched in an immature pitch then, settling its wings as if disappointed that they would not allow him to fly. It even turned its eyes to her, red eyes, Lyanna noted with awe, less scared and more endeared to the creature now that it appeared largely harmless.

The little dragon then turned his body fully toward the wall of the crib, and flapped its wings again and again as if wanting to come closer to her. Perhaps it just craved any touch, Lyanna thought, as scary as his kind was, the creature before her was still a babe, and one lacking a mother or any siblings to snuggle against.

„I shall hold you, if you promise not to spew fire on me.“ Lyanna warned, and the dragonbabe just continued studying her with its hooded red eyes, by all appearances, benevolently. Deciding that was as much of a promise as could be expected, Lyanna indeed lifted the creature with tremulous hands, surprised for an instant as it wiggled out of her grasp only to shortly fly to her shoulder and nuzzle against her neck. Lyanna lifted a hand to rest it on the dragon's back, at first tentatively and then more certain, stroking against the still soft scales. She supposed the creature enjoyed this, as it let out something she could most nearly liken to a purr.

 

* * *

 

„This is simply unacceptable!“ Her lord father roared. Cersei could do little other than boringly purse her lips. „This girl is a lone wolf surrounded by lions, and yet for the time of her presence in the capital, she had only managed to strengthen her position.“

A wolf protected by a dragon, she wanted to correct, but the thought only served her more indignation. Her Lord Father was right, they have failed; she had only hoped her father was not laying this failure entirely at her own doorstep. „This is not our folly.“ she vaguely assures. „It was that old fool Pycelle that failed in his simple task. I daresay you need better allies, Father.“

„In part, I agree.“ Tywin says. „Yet, Pycelle claims that he had done all that was his to do, that it was only a matter of the queen defying his precise instructions and failing to drink the damn thing. Which means she suspects malintent. And if she does, that will just serve to make our task more difficult. Was your own purpose not to get into the queen's good graces, advise her to our own benefit? Yet, you've preferred indulging in petty public spats, and now as a result we have this.“

Cersei blinked, she did not enjoy being berated on this account. „The queen's good graces are forever closed to me. As unpleasant and unruly as she is, she is not stupid. There was nothing I could have done...“

„Couldn't.“ Her father grimaced. „That is all my children know how to say. How they couldn't, how the entire world worked against them, tireless excuses. Do you think everything is easy? When you fail in something, then you try harder.“

 _Try harder_ , another of her lord father's famous life lessons. Tywin Lannister always did like to scold his children either for their imperfect actions or simply for existing, yet Jaime himself had always been exempt from this. The heir, the first son, there was little wrong that Jaime could do that would even temporarily allow their father to appreciate any of his other children. Tyrion most certainly did not deserve this, but she...

„I daresay our entire approach has been wrong.“ Cersei is bold enough to suggest.

„Then do you have any better suggestions?“ Her father's steely voice challenges.

„I have always thought poison of any kind was a weapon of women and weak men.“ Cersei voices. „We have a man, close to her. He need only draw his sword—„

„Poison is a weapon of smart men.“ Tywin authoritatively corrects. „It is easy to suggest a blunt solution to a problem that you yourself are incapable of solving. I will not have my heir bloody his sword with royal blood.“

Cersei scoffs. „She carries no royal blood.“

„She does now, thanks to your incompetence!“ Her father exclaims. His hand connected forcefully with the smooth surface of his desk, sending shivers down Cersei's spine. She collects herself, then dares to ask.

„Then what shall we do? Admit defeat?“

Her lord father grimaced with distaste. „The Lannisters do not admit defeat. And as it so appears that my children are incompetent for dealing with the problem called Lyanna Stark, then I shall have to entertain it myself.“

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a comment made by Helewise on the first part. If anyone is wondering why did the hatchling like Lyanna, consider the fact she is pregnant with a Targ babe.


	7. Post Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I'm really sorry about the massive delay; for some reason, I have little energy lately so I had to write really slowly and infrequently in order to reach some level of quality. So I hope at least this chapter is okay; hopefully, the next update should be quicker.

The dragons had, once more, returned to roam the realms of men.

Few men had access to this knowledge, namely Arthur and Jon, and of course Lyanna, who had, oddly enough, befriended the dragon, and even pouted at the thought of him being confined to a likeness of a dungeon cell. Yet, Rhaegar had explained to her the sensitivity of this information, and she'd finally grudgingly acquiesced to allow him away.

The prophecy took precedence over anything else, and Jon had been fit enough to rule in his stead. Rhaegar could not confide this information to ravens, and neither was he certain he had enough ink to properly write down all his questions and concerns that only Maester Aemon would have a way of answering. By the gods, the subject being dealt with had been of monumental importance, being temporarily inconvenienced certainly faded in the wake of it. 

Rhaegar had been observant enough to notice the shift of the Kingsguard on the other side of his doors. On this side, Lord Tywin offered a bow.

„Your Grace.“ The older man offered in a velvety, yet stern voice; as he did, his green eyes relayed much of the same over-confidence the lions were notorious for possessing. This reminded Rhaegar of something his father used to say, that lions were strong but fickle allies to be received near one's nest. The Mad King had already once alienated this man from the crown; was he right or wrong to do so, Rhaegar's own contrasting strategy would show.

„Lord Tywin.“ He greeted the man. „I appreciate you answering my summons.“

„Of course, Your Grace.“ Lord Tywin smoothly returns. „If I may ask, what is the reason of you seeing me?“

„At this morning's council meeting,“ Rhaegar begins. „I have declared that I will be absent for the following two moons or so.“ Rhaegar had, however, not offered a reason for this absence, neither to his council then, nor would he do so now. Lord Tywin appeared savvy enough not to ask. „I merely wish to know if you as my Master of Coin have anything to discuss with me right now, in private.“

„I believe all is well under control, Your Grace.“ Tywin easily answers. „The coiffeurs are full.“

„Very well then. In any case, if any problems arise for the time of my absence, I want for you to feel free to come with them to the Hand of the King.“

„Of course, Your Grace.“ Lord Tywin gives a slight bow. Rhaegar was just about to ask the man to send his own son in as he departed, but Tywin remained standing before him, in a manner that suggested their conversation had not yet come to an end.

„Your Grace, I would like to offer you my congratulations. There is little as important for a man as to have children, or a king as to have heirs. I wish you good fortune in having another healthy son born to your line.“

 _Another_ , for of course Rhaegar had already had two sons, yet only one still living in flesh. Jon and Aegon; they would have been close enough in age, yet likely different as night and day, black and silver. Rhaegar at times wondered if this, and the fact they were borne off two different mothers would have bred kinship between them, or rivalry. He supposed he would never know.

„I thank you for your kind wishes.“ Rhaegar returned. „If you could send Ser Jaime in upon your departure.“

„Of course, Your Grace.“

The desire to speak to the young knight had too been a result of caution. With Arthur and Oswell by his side, Ser Jaime would be the only one held accountable for Lyanna's safety.

When Rhaegar had initially mentioned his plans of travelling North to Lyanna, she appeared as if she may cry. From that expression alone, he'd guessed she equal parts hated him for leaving, and for leaving her behind while he had the privilege of visiting her homeland. Rhaegar himself had withheld a chuckle at her disproportionately grievous expression, then lightly assured his absence would be a minimal one, and his return faster than she would know.

He had been certain that it had been the babe that had made her so darling, and her heart tender in the wake of even the smallest of disruptions.Yet, pleasing her immensely had been just as easy—he had discovered this the other day, when a lemon shipment from Dorne arrived, and lemoncakes were presented to her for the first time since her living in the South. After she'd had the first taste, her eyes comically widened, and she none withheld herself in stuffing further morsels down her throat, making Rhaegar laugh harder than he could remember in a long time. She hadn't been shy in craving for affection either, by night or by day, and perhaps this was the source of her discontent with his announced trip.

The road to the North had been a long and strenuous one, and especially so considering Lyanna's own disdain for wheelhouses. The Grand Maester had already warned against any stress, and Rhaegar knew that as forlorn as being left behind would make her, losing this babe would have the effect of devastating her, nearly crushing her. Thus he had appointed himself her protector, now with even more intensity than usual, even if it meant an occasional clash against her own willful nature.

They had quarreled on this subject in the past, and knowing this, Rhaegar already had his arguments prepared and on the tip of his tongue, when, to his surprise, she'd withheld any protests, clenched her teeth and merely wished him a safe journey. Yet, this did not mean that she was content, or that she took to their moon-long separation lightly.

„Come back soon,“she told him. „I will be so lonely without you.“

Rhaegar kissed the top of her head and promised that he would.

Indeed, the ride for the North had been as brief as could be reasonably expected, and his stay on the Wall did not supersede his calculations either. Most of this time he had spent in discourse with Maester Aemon, and when not, he would busy himself by seeking additional knowledge in the library. He had not failed however, to greet his youngest goodbrother Benjen, now the sworn man of the Night's Watch, though, in Rhaegar's mind, he had still been the young impressionable boy from Harrenhal, his place of choice on Lyanna's heels. Of course, the youngest Stark did not tarry long in greetings and courtesies to his king, instead taking the first opportunity to ask about Lyanna and Jon. Rhaegar had gladly answered all his inquiries about his kin; this conversation, however, came to a stark end when the Lord Commander appeared and shooed Benjen away with his steely presence.

Maester Aemon himself, the man for whom Rhaegar had made this trip much agreed with Rhaegar's initial valuation, that for now it had been wise to keep the rebirth of dragons a secret only known to few, instead of allowing it into common knowledge. There had been many men and few organizations, the maester had said, that would find it in their interests to delay or even prevent the return of dragons, and would strike while the sole dragon in life is young and vulnerable, as is his future rider. Given this, Rhaegar would take it upon himself to make certain of the dragon's health and safety, at least until Jon himself was of age to govern it. Their bonding needed to be facilitated as well. Maester Aemon shared this opinion, that this was indeed proof that the Promised Prince had recently entered the world even if he did not know it himself, fussing and playing in his crib.

As brief and pleasant as his journey for the North had been, Rhaegar was surprised to find the return even smoother. He had briefly entertained the thought of visiting his goodbrother in Winterfell, and whether it was polite not to, yet without Lyanna in tow, the visit would hardly hold much meaning for either of the men. Thus, from the Wall, the Northern border of his kingdom, Rhaegar would travel straight to the heart of it. The only stop made was to assure a shipment of winter roses be procured briefly after Rhaegar's own arrival, the one thing he could guess would please Lyanna, though she hadn't said so.

„Would you like for me to bring you something on my return?“  Rhaegar had asked. He had kissed Lyanna's lower belly then, right over the spot where their pup was growing. 

„Bring yourself, and soon.“ was all Lyanna said.

* * *

 

Rhaegar knew something had been amiss from the moment he had breached the city gates.

His eyes traced over, searching for the sight of Lyanna smiling atop that horse that she had been so fond of, doing as she was wont to do whenever she would fulfill one of her promises made tongue-in-cheek. She had written him, pledging solemnly not to await him in her chambers „like one of those stuck-up castle-bound maidens“, even threatening to come for him herself, if he was to tarry behind for too long. Rhaegar believed this, as he had long ago learned better than to doubt her words.

He had mulled over this briefly before deciding her absence could mean a hundred different things, yet still remained followed by a certain measure of wariness as he edged his horse toward the Red Keep. Her not waiting for him there either, wolfishly smiling, deepened this sense of disconcert. Still, Rhaegar maintained that there was little to fret over.

It was only with the averted or otherwise tremulous gazes, directed his way from lords, ladies and servants alike, that this denial stopped. He'd taken pause before the two solemn guards at Lyanna's door, clearly demanding entrance, yet not certain he desired it. Still, he straightened his back, and decided to be as minimally affected by whatever awaited him on the other side of these doors. 

What he found before himself was Lyanna, fast asleep, yet clinging to a pillow so tightly as if she were afraid to lose it. Rhaegar suspected that the loss had already occurred.

She seemed to have sensed him standing there, for soon her sleepy demeanor faltered, and once she pushed herself upwards, she mournfully called his name, „Rhaegar.“

At this, Rhaegar could do little other than rush and hold her, all the while ignoring the blood red speck on white sheets under her, and holding off the urge to make what was surely not the first call to the maester. She had clung to him so tightly, like a child would, arms locked around his neck as she heartbreakingly sobbed into his shoulder, and he held her, only letting a hand stroke her hair, for he knew no words would suffice.

A day passed did little to heal this wound, and a fortnight even less. Now, in the place of his once constantly smiling, forever blooming winter rose was a broken flower, battered and wilted in a cruel storm, and Rhaegar could only stand on the sidelines and mourn the loss.

He had tried it all; he offered providing her with a comforting presence, he attempted giving her solitude to grieve, yet all of those strategies had been void. Lyanna had closed off to him, instead choosing to keep her mourning and her thoughts to herself.

Even when Jon would be brought to her, she would only stare at him in silence as he bounced and even began crawling on her bed, as if to say, _look mama what I can do, why are you sad._  When it failed, the child himself seemed to be perturbed by this, watching to her with its clear, wide grey eyes, as if he recognized his mother yet somehow not.

She would only get out of bed to bathe, but even then, she would remain for hours merely sitting in the tub, staring at her bare knees until someone would come to urge her out of it.

They had not made love; Rhaegar had not attempted anything in this regard, knowing her bold enough to reach for him if she so wished it. Yet her spirits, as well as drive for anything wavered, only leaving her with an inclination to do minimal – bathe and eat so little Rhaegar suspected her physical health might soon be in question as well.

She would, however, and this fact had not escaped him, reach for him in the night when she thought him asleep, merely holding her small form against him as if it were warmth that she craved. It were his conscious self that unfortunately had the comforting ability of a brick wall. She would not reject him when he offered consoling words, or to hold her or kiss her, but it did not seem to make for progress either. She would only give him the same empty look regardless of any efforts he made. _You do not understand_ , was the message that he had received from this, and he feared he truly couldn't.

But he had loved her so nonetheless, and could not help but grieve when she did as well, even if his own wounds have been considerably lighter. Rhaegar had long ago learned to love with reserve, hardened by the harsh experiences past; it seemed it had only been she who had ever managed to slip through this crack. It was she whose heart had been so open and free, with the unfortunate side effect of also being terribly susceptible to hurt. Somehow, he did not wish for this to change.

Hoping to raise her spirits, Rhaegar had even kept an eye on that shipment of winter roses he'd ordered, and the day they arrived, had a giant bouquet of them placed on Lyanna's nightstand. Yet, this had only resulted in the flowers wilting in their vase by her bedside, with her sniffling over them as if she'd hoped to thus will them back to life, every tear pricking like acid on Rhaegar's skin.

In this, she had allowed him to comfort her; she had expelled her warm tears into his chest, wetting it as he smoothed back her hair and held her, assuring her most softly how winter roses still grew in abundance, safe and sound in the North. He had urged her to imagine the vast fields of them, extending all across the North, especially the one within the godswood of Winterfell, that she had so many times reminisced to him about.

Yet, even when this had provoked a smile from her, it had been of the sad sort, as she told him the winter roses may grow in the North, but not here, never here, here they were always fated to wilt.

 


	8. Pure Morning

When he'd first told Cersei about her accomplishment, a genuine smile bloomed on her fair lips, perhaps for the first time since her arrival to the capital.

„You mean it?“ She'd asked. „The babe is gone?“ Then, a wondrous chuckle escaped her, as if she'd just arrived to some pleasant realization. „It must have been Father. I knew he had something in mind.“

Jaime did not know why he was relieved it was not she who did this, but he was.

„Oh, but you must tell me.“ She insists then. „Did you see her? Did she scream? Did she cry?“ Then, after Rhaegar had returned. „How is he? Is he disappointed? Is he angry at her?“

Jaime could have told her how the king immediately rushed to comfort her, or how he brought her flowers, or that he hadn't smiled since she had not, but he knew that was not what Cersei wished to hear.

„He is fine,“ was all he said. „Remember, he lost a living son already.“

The reminder seemed to cloud her mood.

„Yes, he did.“ Cersei confirms. „Fortunately for the wolf-bitch. Elia's children are gone; her son is dead and her daughter disposed of, shipped off to Dorne. Leaving only her and her wolf-whelp. Even if she births no further children, she has him. Even if Rhaegar leaves her, and takes another wife, and has plenty more children, it is her son that will sit on the Throne. Rhaegar is not her true source of strength, that filthy pup of hers is.“

Jaime's jaw shifted; he did not like where this was going. It had been abundantly clear that Cersei's plans could not bring him any pleasure, but this...this had simply been too extreme. _Kingslayer_ , an immediate voice whispered in his mind. Not quite, he supposed, for the day that Cersei would wish for her beloved Rhaegar's death was the day all seven hells would freeze over. And perhaps that was one that Jaime would have been capable of on one of his mad days, if only for the king's crime of stealing Cersei's affection from him with his perfect Valyrian appearances, his refined intelligence, or his polished manners that concealed the sensitive nature within. The man had been perfect, but he did not belong with Cersei. Only Jaime belonged with Cersei.

 But murdering an innocent prince, a mere babe in his crib, was this not the same as killing the king? Was it not even worse? What about tampering with the queen's womb, ridding her of any children even before they had a chance to be born?

Jaime hated those eyes of his. Wide, wondrous and grey, just like his mother's. Making you feel as if they could pierce through the hardest steel, beneath the flesh and bones and stare straight into your soul. Sometimes even she, little more than a pup of a woman bearing the heavy title of a queen would look at him unabashedly, with those wide eyes of hers and he could swear they were saying _I know, Ser Jaime. I know. I forgive you._ But that blood wasn't on his hands, he insists. Even if it had literally been on his hands as he carried her to the maester, trying to calm her in her yelps and frightened tears. Still, he did nothing. _Exactly_ , that annoying voice in the back of his head whispers. _You did nothing._ He watched her drink the damn thing.

 _„Thank you, Ser Jaime.“_ She'd told him for one thing or another, then contently scooted down in her bed to sleep. He hadn't guarded her that night. He was, however, the first person in the morning to hear her screams.

Jaime brushes the thought away.

„What do you intend to do?“ he asked. _What do you intend to have me do_ , was what he truly meant. There had only been so many distinct ways of breaking one's vows, and Jaime suspected he would soon be running out.

„For now, nothing.“ Cersei exhales. „It is impossible to gain access to the whelp. She never lets him leave her side, she'd carry him around in her teeth if she could. We will just have to be patient. Wait for a proper opportunity to present itself.“

Frankly, Jaime is relieved; in fact, he thinks to take his leave before his sister changes her mind, but a dainty hand on his arm plate stops him. Those green eyes, so like his own no longer bristle in hate, as they do whenever Lyanna is on her mind, instead they are calmer, kinder and Jaime thinks he even sees a glimpse of desire in them. Her voice is a match to her eyes.

„I know I haven't been there for you lately.“ She begins, averting her eyes. „I can only imagine...if you were set to be wed to some highborn goose, I swear I would kill her before I would let it happen.“

Was this Cersei... _apologizing_? Jaime wants to savor the moment but he isn't sure how. Instead, his mind lingers on her last sentence; it was a threat of murder, sure, but from Cersei's mouth, it sounded strangely romantic. Suddenly it hits him just how close they were, his armor and her sheer red dress the only thing separating their flesh. Those soft golden locks were inches within his reach, the familiar perfume filling his nostrils with sweetness. She was intoxicating. It has been long, too long, and Jaime started wondering if it would ever happen again. _You and me against the world, forever._ He would do whatever it took. There was no one else. Only her. 

He decides to prove it by lifting her off the ground, pinning her against the nearest wall and locking their lips. Cersei is eager for him as well, her hands find the straps holding his armor together, but she is not well-versed in removing it. It doesn't matter, he will help her.

The obstacle does seem to snap her out of passion though, for when he reaches for another kiss, she denies him, putting her fingers on his lips, and asking: „What if someone enters?“

By the gods, even if the king himself entered, he would not live long enough to tell the tale.

 

 

* * *

 

The next day, Jaime stands by his post before the queen's chambers as usual. For how unpredictable the queen usually was, his daily routine had become strangely boring. There were no more visits to the godswood, no more long excruciating rides that had little purpose other than giving the queen something to do with her time. Only servants entered now, and Rhaegar, slipping in and out the doors as his own commitments claimed, torn between governing a kingdom and licking the wounds of a queen. His attempts at persuading her out of her grief had been gentle and patient from what Jaime could tell, mostly at times when the doors would be left ajar and he could hear the words of their mainly one-sided conversations.

  „Lyanna, my sweet.“ The king was telling her one day, with such soft inflection to his voice that he never used with anyone else. „I promise you, we will have another babe.“ Someone else might have thought Rhaegar a dutiful husband for this, but that was not it at all. He was never like that with Elia. He was never like that with anyone but her.

„But they won't be this babe.“ she said in return. 

Jaime did not expect anything different today.

 The doors behind himself give a sudden screech; turning his head, Jaime rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, on reflex more than anything else. It is the queen, gaunt and pale, with dark circles under her eyes and her bony hands holding onto the sides of her black dress. She doesn't smile, doesn't address him as usual, with _Hello, Ser Jaime_ , or _How are you today, Ser Jaime_ , merely brushes past him and goes down the hallway. Surprised by her emergence, Jaime quietly clears his throat and then faithfully follows. 

They pass the King's study, even with Ser Arthur at the doors indicating Rhaegar's presence as well. It seemed it were not her husband that she searches for. Jaime gives the senior knight a respectful nod and Arthur doesn't move but for the slightest glint of recognition in his dark eyes.

Many a lord and lady mingle in the meandering hallways of the Red Keep; it is around noon, after all, and the King's castle was known for its rustle and bustle with all the ladies and children living there, accompanying their husbands, men who did one thing in service of the crown, or another. In theory, these ladies were supposed to gather around the queen like a flock of hens, but that was in theory. They did not seem quite as interested, and Lyanna is not interested in it either. They do greet her as she passes, they are too craven and fearful of Rhaegar's wrath –or her own- not to.

  It is a curious thing—not that they fear her, for the entire castle knew what happened to his own dearest Cersei the last time Lyanna's own blood ran too hot, or that Rhaegar, upon hearing of it merely brushed it off, and closed the matter by offering Tywin Lannister the most dutiful and unmeant apology ever spoken. Even for men – it would not be a great shame admitting one was intimidated by her; not perhaps in physicality, for the queen was still little more than a wisp of a thing, but even with both her feet on the ground, and her arms down her sides, her tongue was a weapon matched with difficulty .

But, they fear Rhaegar too, the man who by all means appeared like someone who wouldn't crush a fly, but for her, they whispered, for her he would crush the entire world. _What does she do to him?_ they wondered. How does she keep him under her spell to that extent? Some speculated she used literal magic, once a pair of them even argued about this, and upon noticing him, one had been bold enough to approach him and ask on his own insights on the subject, which, given he guarded the queen's chamber, he had more than most. He'd almost been tempted to lie, tell them all about how the queen grew fur and sharp teeth at night, and that the king did not mind this – on the contrary, but the circumstances had prevented it and the ladies went on with their minds unscathed. Jaime did not care enough to care of course, but even then, he had grown tired from such whispers with Cersei hissing, irritated by the mythos of the great love story, though Jaime knew she did not mind the story as much as that she was not the main character in it. And sometimes,these rumors would come to him directly, when people forgot men with ears and tongues and brains sweated and baked beneath those white armors the entire day long. Jaime's own ears have become keen on picking up any references to the woman he guarded, perhaps solely out of boredom.  

The queen doesn't care though – she cared some when she first got here, even fidgeted uncomfortably beneath the cruel gazes as if it were her fault they disliked her, but it couldn't have gone any different and perhaps she was starting to realize that. No woman, who was a queen rather than a mistress by virtue of taking another's place could have found love in the hearts of the aging ladies wilting at court, who feared for their own husband seeing a prettier and younger skirt. And that was not even mentioning she was a Northwoman – a stranger to all these women who have never even sniffed at the air north of the Neck and gasped in horror for their daughter's maidenheads at seeing her ride the horse astride as she did. And this never really changed, even with Elia more than a year gone and Lyanna's own son becoming the true heir to the throne; the ladies clutched their pearls, the lords commented approvingly of the king's taste, but it hadn't been the lords that Lyanna was supposed to please.

Right now, she came to an abrupt stop in the gardens, and Jaime does too. Though he is behind her back, he can see her hands fidgeting, almost shaking, like she was uncertain of what she was to do, but then, she takes a breath, picks up the sides of her dress again and continues on her way. Jaime faithfully follows.

And surely, it is the godswood she in the end sought out – the easier option for Jaime considering otherwise he would have to ride with her until sundown, but something told him the queen was of no spirits in which something like that would please her.

The queen makes her usual stride toward the heart tree, and Jaime continues too, then comes to a stop in his usual spot. The queen does not however kneel at the altar, nor does she fold her hands or close her eyes, giving the impression of concentration as she chose her words for the gods. Instead, she approaches the tree itself, sits at the base of it in what becomes a pool of red leaves and her dark skirts, and she merely stays there, not saying a word, but from the tilt of her head, Jaime can tell that she is staring at the carved out sneering face, weeping in red.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's Jaime's chapter that was promised. I'm horribly sorry this took so long, it's just I'm kinda glitching at the moment and I hope that will go away soon. I will be updating 'About a Queen' according to my best efforts as well. Thank you! And do leave me a comment if you're so inclined : D


	9. Sleeping with Ghosts

 

„Mama!“ He cries immediately, tearing himself from the chair where his nanny was reading him a book, and launching himself into her skirts.

„Hello, my sweet pup!“ Lyanna picks Jon up, and rubs her nose lovingly against his smaller one. Jon just giggles.

„You are dismissed.“ She tells the other woman in passing, still largely preoccupied with her son. Shifting in her embrace, Jon reaches forward and tangles his little fists in her hair, where he pulls slightly.

They are in a little room which was assigned to Jon, a little room for a little wolf pup living there. He could have slept in the nursery, where septas would look after his day to day needs as was customary, but Lyanna hadn't liked that, and much preferred keeping her son close. She was not stupid, after all; perhaps not well-versed in politics or patient enough to learn, but she understood danger well enough. The lioness had still not left; conspicuously remaining unmarried yet still, and her father's ambitions were no secret to anyone at court. It did not help that Rhaegar assured her over and over again to not fret, when those assurances turned more and more vague whenever Lyanna asked how did a small council meeting go.

The court's disdain of Lyanna was no secret either, even if Rhaegar still tried so desperately to shield her from it, ignorant to the fact he could not. Lyanna wondered how she could have ever agreed to live in a venomous place like this. But she knew how; back then, it was the idea of living in Rhaegar's arms that was appealing no matter of their surroundings, but Rhaegar's arms were all too busy to hold her all the time now, with him falling into what she suspected to be his royal routine before he even knew her.

„Mama,“ Jon suddenly asks. „why are you sad?“

 „I am not sad.“ She tries to reassure in as cheerful a voice as she could. „Mama is thoughtful. You know, that is different from being sad.“

„I know.“ Jon says, touching his little hand to Lyanna's cheek. „But I still think you're sad.“

„Look, Jon, look.“ Lyanna says breathless, hoping to distract him. „Look what mama has here.“

 „A letter.“ Jon correctly recognizes. He reaches for it with his small hands, and Lyanna gladly allows him, knowing there was little he liked in the world as breaking an unopened seal. Rhaegar had noted it too, had jested how Jon would surely make for the most excellent prince with his excitement over correspondence.

Jon however, does not immediately tear the seal, rather his wide grey eyes study at it inquisitively. „From uncle Ned.“ He says.

It still stunned Lyanna just how astute her little son was, much more intelligent and mature than she could remember herself and Benjen being even at an older age. As odd as it was to say, Jon sometimes felt more adult than even she herself was. Her son most clearly lacked that which her father used to call wolf's blood, the thick-headedness that marked both her and his uncle Brandon, and Lyanna couldn't say she had been overly upset for it.

„Would you like for us to read it?“

Jon nodded, and Lyanna carried him over to a seat, where she sat down and drew Jon himself to her lap. She began reading out loud, and as she did, Jon's wide grey eyes followed the letters, as if he tried to understand the connection between what he heard and  what he saw.

„Did you understand everything, my dearest?“ Lyanna asked once she was done.

In response, Jon strained forward and tangled his little fists in her curls for balance. Lyanna stands him up straight, so that they are nose to nose again. „Mama,“ he starts finally. „what does it mean that aunt Cat is with child?“

Lyanna smoothed his soft curls. „It means pup that you will have another cousin soon, like you do Robb. Aunt Cat is going to have a babe, like I had you.“

This lends Jon some excitement. „Can we go meet them? Can I play with them when we do? Please, mama.“

Lyanna gave him another kiss on the tip of his nose.„They are very far away, but we'll go if we can, dearest.“ Lyanna missed Winterfell too, she missed the winter, the solemn faces, the cold, the furs, gods, she missed it all.

„Can I see Drogon today, then?“ Jon asks, settling for his large pet at the moment, if not his cousins. Lyanna maintained that had been the most unimaginative name for the beast, but it had remained from Jon's first attempts at speaking its kind.

„You will have to ask Ser Arthur nicely, if you wish for him to take you.“ Lyanna returns. „We could go right now to try to find him if you'd like.“

Jon shakes his head back and forth. „I want to spend time with you, mama.“

„Very well then, dearest.“ Lyanna says happily. „Mama wants to spend time with you too. What would you like for us to do?“ Lyanna's hand found the open book on her right, and she cast a glance down. „You were reading this with your nanny, weren't you? Would you like for me to read you the rest?“

„Yes, mama.“ Jon says sweetly.

Lyanna took the book, and flipped it closed over her hand, seeing the front cover. „The Dance of Dragons,“ she read out loud. The Targaryen civil war from over a hundred years ago, even she knew. Lyanna once wondered whether reading about such things was appropriate for a three year old, but over time, she had learned nothing else could capture Jon's attention quite as so. She herself did not wish to hear of knights and princesses living happily ever after, and much preferred Old Nan telling her of snarks and grumpkins. Now Old Nan would have other Stark children to scare with her stories so.

Lyanna was just about to set on reading out of the book, but a knock on the doors halts her in this intention.

„M'lady.“ The servant girl says, offering a quick curtsey. „You asked me to let you know when Grand Maester Pycelle leaves the Small Council meeting.“

 As if sensing her future actions from this, Jon silently slides from her lap, allowing Lyanna herself to rise.

 „Very well. Thank you. Let him know that I will arrive there shortly.“ She returns to the girl who departs.

„You must go already, mama?“ Jon asks with a little pout on his red lips, visibly disappointed.

 „I must, darling, but-“ Lyanna lifts him up in her arms once more, and gives him a kiss on the little tip of his nose. „Mama will be back later. I promise.“

„Alright. I love you, mama.“ Jon says, extending little arms to hold around her neck. Lyanna wrapped her own arms around his little form, squeezing him as tightly as she could. „I love you too, pup.“

 

* * *

 

„Grand Maester Pycelle.“ Lyanna breathes, meeting the man at the entrance to his chambers.

„Your Grace.“ Pycelle scrambles to offer a hurried bow. „Oh yes, please.“ He says, waving a hand toward the open doors to the chambers.

The familiar smell of what Lyanna always assumed were many chemicals overwhelmed, and she took a seat at her typical place. The initial wariness of this place disappeared long ago, and Lyanna spoke freely.  „Last time,“ Lyanna cleared her throat, „you spoke to me about a certain draught you believe may help?“

„Ah, yes, Your Grace.“ Pycelle agrees wearily. „If you would forgive me, your Grace, this is relevant information. When was the last time you had your moon's blood?“

Once upon a time, Lyanna wouldn't be able to disclose this information if her life depended on it. She was never good at keeping track. „A fortnight ago,“ she sighed.

 „Very well, then, Your Grace.“ Pycelle mumbled. „In that case, this should help.“ His elderly form dragged him toward the cabinets, where he appeared to search for something. Lyanna waited with eagerness.

„This particular draught,“ the maester began explaining. „is a very powerful essence of several herbs, and should therefore only be used sporadically. Also, it should only be taken two or three drops at a time.“ He closed the doors to the wooden cabinet, now bearing a little vial in hand.

„Is there anything else I should have in mind?“ Lyanna asked, already familiar with these recommendations. Most draughts were to be taken at night, most were to be dissolved in water or tea, and anymore than three drops may kill her. The only thing none of it did was give her a babe. Lyanna had not conceived ever since she lost her first one, which was almost two years ago. Even then, the maester had said the miscarriage itself might have caused further damage, and that she may never conceive again. Yet, Lyanna kept being hopeful.

„You see, Your Grace, a woman is more likely to conceive at some times rather than others. Given the time passed since your last moon's blood, you would be recommended to...concentrate your efforts around this time.“

 

* * *

 

That night, Lyanna sat in bed in her nightgown, and waited. She'd already done all she was to for today, had taken a bath, drank her draught as recommended, and even sent a servant to remind Rhaegar to come to her tonight. Some time ago, this would be fully unnecessary since Rhaegar spent all his nights in her bed regardless, but lately he had taken to a habit of staying up late, or even choosing to take his rest in his own chambers, allegedly not wishing to disturb her.

But tonight he would curb his commitments, he would surely, after all, he understood the importance of this. If they were to have another babe, then he was as essential to it as she was. But, this was not even solely about another babe, perhaps if it was, Lyanna would have settled for loving Jon, and abandoned her barren feat a long time ago. There were other causes too, more important, essential reasons which added to a sense of urgency. A single prince in the line of succession was an easy target for anyone who may have had different plans than what Rhaegar envisioned. But if Jon were to have a sibling, even a sister, then Lyanna knew an attack on his life would hold less strategic meaning. Rhaegar had to know this as well.

He would come, he promised he would come. But his absence stung, like barbed wire into a heart, and Lyanna could not more but fall asleep with her head against a headboard, and her heart weighed down as if with stone.

 


	10. Something In The Way

 

Wishing to get to the cause of this Small Council meeting, called by Lord Tywin, Rhaegar cut to chase.

„What are his claims?“

Tywin Lannister spoke aloud, holding a letter before him for reference. „Lord Robert claims that the marriage between you and _Lady Lyanna_ , as he addresses her, does not and cannot hold any meaning given that she was betrothed to him at the time of your wedding, as well as for the fact that your previous wife, Elia had still been alive. Thus, he also claims Prince Jon is an illegitimate child, and is not the proper heir to the throne. He claims this is corroborated by the gods Old and New not seeing it fit to grant you and Lady Lyanna anymore heirs. He requests the annulment of your marriage to Lady Lyanna, and her hand be given to him, as well as for Princess Rhaenys to be declared heir to the Iron Throne, or he will declare war.“

As Lord Tywin finished, awkward whispering and soft scraping of chairs was heard. „That idiot.“ Rhaegar heard Brandon Stark grumble.

„War?“ Rhaegar repeated mirthlessly. „None of those claims are true, and his requests are preposterous. Half of them don't respond to reason whatsoever. What possible use does Robert Baratheon have from Rhaenys sitting on the throne, as opposed to Jon?“

„He personally doesn't, but Dorne does, Your Grace.“ Lord Tywin points out. „It is guaranteed that they have promised him military support in this matter. And as for his requests regarding the queen, his fondness of her is far and well-known, as is the insult he appeared to have suffered with her being taken away from him.“

Rhaegar rubbed a hand against his forehead. This was just what he needed, Robert Baratheon acting on his long-held jealousy. „In your best opinion, is he a serious threat?“

„As things stand right now, he isn't, Your Grace.“ Lord Tywin answers smoothly. „However, if more houses rally to his cause, he might become one. The Tullys will do whatever the Starks do, and the Starks will surely back their blood's claim. Jon Arryn is bound to Tullys by marriage, and both Stark and Baratheon by having had Lords Eddard and Robert as wards. For him, it would depend on how seriously he takes Robert's claims. The Ironborn might rally to Robert's cause as well, if he promises them autonomy. And of course, you have the Lannisters' support. “ Lord Tywin added, something that should have gone unspoken, and instead registered as a threat to Rhaegar's mind.

„If you would forgive me, Your Grace.“ Pycelle drawled then. „Regardless of Robert Baratheon, I believe this problem brings another problem forward. As you know, the queen is barren. Regardless of if Lord Robert manages to accomplish any of his bold goals, his claims will have already poisoned the air. Prince Jon's legitimacy will forever be questioned, as will the princess' capacity to rule. However, if I may suggest, you having a third legitimate, male heir by a woman other than the queen, would solve this. If I daresay, you need to remarry, Your Grace. Perhaps you could even free Lady Lyanna of her vows, so even Robert Baratheon would be satisfied. Surely, the Starks would be unsatisfied, but otherwise, the realm would most surely bleed-“

„You sleazy, old bastard.“ Brandon growled, rising out of his chair and towering over the table toward Pycelle. „That is my sister you're talking about, Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and who are you? You can't even lick her boots-“

„That is quite enough, Lord Brandon.“ Rhaegar warned, and just as Arthur's hand came to rest on Brandon's shoulder. Brandon only shook it away, still seething. In truth, Rhaegar much desired to have a similar response; his cousin's insane threats as well as Pycelle's suggestion still had him fuming but he couldn't afford to show it. 

„Very well, my lords.“ Rhaegar announced through gritted teeth. „I believe that is enough for today. You are dismissed.“

The lords obediently went to take their leave, however Brandon Stark tarried, and moved fast enough toward him that Rhaegar only caught him with the corner of his eye. He grabbed onto Rhaegar's collar. „You may be king, but she is my sister, and I promise you, if you hurt her, I'll kill you.“

„Easy now.“ Arthur interjected dangerously; he had made himself an obstacle between the two men, and offered what Rhaegar knew was a menacing stare to Brandon. „You are speaking to the king. Hold your tongue.“

Sensing this would have the opposite effect of the intended, Rhaegar called him off.

„Arthur.“ He hissed, and his best friend indeed obeyed, but not before sending another warning look Brandon's way. Rhaegar took a second to correct his collar.

„Your concerns are well noted, Lord Brandon, however, I assure you there will be no need for it to come to that. I love your sister, and I would never consciously bring harm upon her; even more I intend to protect-„

„Protect her?“ Brandon sneered. „Is your idea of protection what you did today, just sit by and allow your advisors to bicker over which woman to replace her with, as if she were a common whore, and not a Stark, trueborn and noble and lawfully wed to you before the Old Gods, and your Southron ones here alike? They don't respect their queen, but I am supposed to respect the king who doesn't protect her-“

Rhaegar interrupted him; he had adopted a deeper tone and a sharper gaze for the occasion.„Your sister's position is secure, Lord Stark, I assure you of that. My advisors are entitled to their own opinions, however that is all they are entitled to. If any of them dare act on it outside of the power that was given to them...“ Rhaegar paused for effect alone. „Proper measures will be taken. Stand assured of it.“

„I truly hope so.“ Brandon warned. Then he sent a glance at the spot behind Rhaegar's back, in Arthur's direction. Then back to Rhaegar. „For your own good.“

Arthur went to step forward again, moving in his white armor, but Rhaegar's hand stopped him, allowing Brandon to take his leave without further incidents. His goodbrother had quite a temper on him, much like Lyanna did, and it would do no good to anyone to allow this matter to escalate further. Lyanna certainly wouldn't appreciate her brother being locked up in a prison cell.

„You are being kind, but they mistake it for weakness.“ Arthur's voice then called. And perhaps it had truly been thus, Rhaegar did not know.

He sighed, leaning his height against the table and rubbing a hand against his forehead.

„What am I doing wrong, Arthur?  Gods be good, I _am_ trying to protect her; perhaps not in a manner immediately evident, but everything I had done had been for her. How do I both protect her feelings, and prevent a war? All it does is making me look like a hypocrite.“

„I do not know, Your Grace.“ Arthur offers formally. „I wish I did.“

* * *

 

That evening, unlike the previous one, Rhaegar found himself visiting Lyanna's chamber. A day too late from her perspective, surely, but, understanding her motive and intention, yesterday he simply had no desire to come. After such a difficult day, he did not wish to linger on it, nor offer any explanations; however, when he moved to kiss her, he found himself denied by cold lips and arms crossed.

„You did not come last night,“ was all she said, a statement as a statement could be, no question. 

„Nay, I did not.“ Rhaegar conceded with a sigh. He had hoped to avoid conflict, but it seemed that had been impossible after all.

Though Lyanna did not say anything to this, she still seethed in anger, that much was clear. Her fists were clenched and her grey eyes were strict with indignation and resistance, and maybe just a twinge of hurt. 

„You promised me.“ she reminds him. „When Jon was born, you promised me you would have more time for us. Is this the extent to which you hold your promises?“

Rhaegar closed his eyes. „I did promise you.“ He finally concedes. A hand came to rub against his forehead; Rhaegar had had quite enough of arguing with Starks for one day. „I remember what I said, and I find time for you to the best of my ability, but Lyanna, you have to understand my position as well. I am the king — at times, it is simply impossible to get away from all the commitments-“

Lyanna blinked away with an edge of anger. „I didn't ask you to the gardens to drink tea with me, Rhaegar...“

Rhaegar sighed again, now propping himself up on both hands against the back of a chair. He spoke quietly and deliberately, yet the meaning of his words equally irritated. „I know you didn't, but you have to understand, sometimes more important affairs arise. It is not that I forgot about our agreement last night, it was just that Jon had something he urgently needed to talk to me about, and I cannot make a habit out of brushing off...“

Something about his voice, about the dismissiveness that permeated it, and his unwillingness to truly ingage incessed Lyanna, and she snapped. „Then perhaps you should have Jon give you another child.“ She hissed at him, then turned to move toward the restroom.

It was Rhaegar's voice that stopped her midway, her back still turned to him.

„Do you know why I wasn't there?“ He asks, in a voice high and much too detached for anything good to come after it. Lyanna closed her eyes shut, not sure she wanted to know what followed.

 „I wasn't there, for you invited me into your chambers to make love to you on command, not for you wished for me, or for I wished for you but because Pycelle said so. Don't I have any say in this?“

Only after considerable hesitation did Lyanna turn; she wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold. Her eyes, that refused to meet his, were watery, but her jaw was stiff enough for them not to spill. „What do you mean?“

Rhaegar moved forward, his hands touching to her upper arms as he spoke in a softer tone of voice. „I mean, that, it is possible we should not be so aggressive with it. Perhaps we should just forget about it for a while, and if it happens, it happens.“

Lyanna shook her head, forlornly replying. „It will never happen on its own.“ She took a breath then, as if to steel herself, but did not look up at him. „Is that what you are saying, then, that you do not wish for another babe?“

Rhaegar sighed. „I'm beginning to think I do not. At least not at the price that such a thing is starting to claim.“

„Price?“ Lyanna scoffed, now unfolding her hands and having them fall down alongside her body. She watched to him as she spoke. „You know nothing of prices. You never paid for anything in your entire life. It is I who is paying here, in tears and blood so that your damnable succession can go on.“

 „I do not care about my succession.“ Rhaegar insists. „Why do you care, you never cared for such-“

„Do you know what they call me?“ Lyanna asks suddenly, surprising him. She took in a shaky breath, as if to steel herself for what comes next. „When I just got here I was called a lot of things, not full three moons passed before I started showing and since Elia's death both, and people noticed. Then they sneered at me, disapproved of my full belly, called me many things, the dragon's whore, the wolf-whore, the whore of Winterfell and Dragonstone both. Now I am a barren wolf-bitch, with not even my broodmare value to fall back on.“ Her small hands curled into fists then, and her gaze drifted further down. Her brows furrowed also – with an almost unbearable hurt, he realized, intertwining with and fueling the anger that came with wounded pride. Rhaegar felt a strange kind of ache spring inside his soul, like he were looking at some incredible injustice done to someone, except it wasn't just someone that was in question, it was someone he loved.

 „Who says such things?“ He firmly insists. „Tell me and in the morning you shall awake to their heads on the city gates.“

Lyanna laughs without mirth. „If you did that, not a single soul but me and you would awake tomorrow to see those heads. Apart from a couple of your Kingsguard, perhaps, and my brother.“ Her gaze drifted somewhere off to the side. „ And yet, I am not doing this for this damnable court or for your bloody succession that your advisors seem to care so much about. I am doing this for Jon. I don't want him to grow up all alone.“ _I don't want him to die._ In spite of her best efforts, her voice trembled as she confessed this. Lyanna drew in a shaky breath, attempting to invite calm once more. Yet, the urge to cry was too overwhelming, and her bottom lip shook despite herself.

Seeing this, Rhaegar stepped forward, and pulled Lyanna into an embrace. „Oh, my sweet. I am so sorry my dearest, my darling, my love.“ He murmured to the top of her head, fearing for a moment he may weep himself. „I am so sorry we cannot have another babe. You have no idea, it breaks my heart to see you so. But you cannot go on like this, Lyanna.“

She seemed to have calmed against his chest until that last remark came. Sniffling, she pulled back now, however.

„Perhaps you can't.“ she tells him bitterly, misted eyes holding his gaze. „But I cannot give up so soon. I am trying, I am doing all that is in my power and you're not. You don't even care enough to pretend to care.“

„You are right, I don't care.“ Rhaegar says. „I care about _you_. I want you to be happy.“

„Happy.“ Lyanna repeats idly. Perhaps once, she could have been, yet how could she? Lyanna couldn't, not when every morning she would wake up with an unbearable sense of emptiness within her, as if a babe was there one minute, and then wasn't in the next not only that night moons before, but every single night after that. Lyanna would wake up to cry into her husband's back when this horror would rouse her from her sleep, only he never awoke himself, Lyanna was cautious of that. She knew if he did, he would immediately hold her to him, inquire to what it was that saddened her, and she simply did not know how to explain.

Instead,  she would awake later, and, first thing in the morning, rush to the nursery for a comforting sight, yet even Jon's smiles could have only dispersed this sadness for a moment at a time. Oh, Lyanna was so tired, angry and mad at everything, at her fate for daring to play with her in such cruel fashion. She seemed to remember a time when she dealt with it all much better, but that time was far gone.

„You simply don't understand.“ She tells him weakly, her brows furrowing. „I know you try to, but you don't. Because you're not the one who is broken and whose body is betraying him, or the one who carries the brunt of it before others.“ She sighs then. „I swear it to the Gods, if I have to see Pycelle's face one more time, I shall scream.“

„Then don't.“ Rhaegar urges her gently. „Forget about it. Forget about him. Let yourself be happy - you have me, and you have Jon. He is not going anywhere. And he adores his mother, and he cannot bear to see her cry, anymore than I can.“ He noticed the pout on her pretty lips become more pronounced as he said this, much like his son would pout at him when something upset him. „If you won't do it for you, and you won't do it for me, then do it for him.“ 

Lyanna was freely weeping by now; she rushes into his chest with eyes full of tears, and Rhaegar was all too ready to cradle her head to him.

„Hush sweetling, hush. Hush, my love.“ Rhaegar whispers most softly, hand smoothing back her unruly locks. Her sobs shook her little form against his chest, no doubt coaxed with the mention of their son, yet Rhaegar was patient, holding her, stroking her hair, and murmuring any consoling syllable he could think of to her ear. They stayed this way for a while, until the thick sobs escaping her dwindled down into tired whimpers.

„I never wanted children.“ She mumbles into his chest, once sufficiently calm. „When I was younger, I thought nothing would be a bigger curse than being married to a lord of my father's choosing and being forced to birth him heirs. I even begged the Gods not to give me my moon's blood, for I thought that way my father would never be able to give me away for marriage. Gods truly have an inkling for tasteless jests, do they not?“

„They do.“ Rhaegar confirms softly, his mind still on her confession. It made sense, surely, yet she'd never told him of this before. She barely spoke about this at all.

She separates her face sticky with tears from his chest, and Rhaegar lets a hand cup her cheek, thumb brushing at the slight trail they left.Lyanna in turn leans her forehead against his chin, as if she did not wish to completely forego the contact between them.  

„I'm sorry.“ She tells him, then. 

 „What are you sorry for?“ Rhaegar asks, pulling away to see her properly. None of this was her fault.

„For making it hard for you to love me.“ She breathes, then looks up at him through still wet eyelashes. „I do not wish to quarrel and accuse you of everything all the time, I truly don't. I just can't help it.“

„You are not.“ Rhaegar insists sincerely. Laughing or crying, she was still herself, she was the woman he loved, and loving her was the easiest, most natural thing in his life. He only wished she came to him for comfort more freely. This way, things boiled beneath the surface until she could not hold them in any longer, reducing herself to a pitiable woman and him to an uncaring husband, when neither of those things were true.

„Forgive me, please.“ She says, moving to rest against his chest again.

„Come now.“ Rhaegar says; he lets a hand come up to rub circles into her back, soothing her. „Let us go to sleep, my love.“

Neither of them moved beyond that.

 


	11. Where Is My Mind

That morning, Rhaegar awoke with Lyanna's weight atop his chest. It seemed she had awoken also, as her hand rose to his face, and, as greeting, she offered him a tender morning kiss. That had been innocent enough, but then her leg, wedged between the two of his, started rising up, clearly signifying her further intentions. Rhaegar physically reacted as could only be predicted; he closed his eyes and steeled himself before explaining.

„My love, I could not possibly. I have a most early council meeting; as you know, the preparations for your tourney are at their height, and financial matters relating to it are being discussed today.“ The tourney, organized under the pretext of Lyanna's nineteenth nameday, had in fact been Varys' idea. According to him, the royalties needed to regularly display their wealth and splendor, and especially so in the face of a threat. This way, Rhaegar clearly informed the world he had no intention of acquiescing to any unreasonable demands.

„I would rather have you, than any tourney.“ Lyanna says, tracing her hand across his chin.

„I know, my love.“ Rhaegar returns. „But it is how it must be.“ He captured her hand with his, and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Lyanna gives an ever so slight sigh, then rises from the bed. She wraps her silk robe around herself, and takes her leave for the washroom.

Rhaegar himself offered a sigh to the empty room, then rose and began slipping into his clothes. Just as he was fixing his collar, the most sweet voice called out to him.

„Papa!“

Rhaegar turned, and lifted Jon up in the air with easiness. „My little prince.“ he smiled.

Jon took a second to press his little hand against Rhaegar's face, and when he hovered over his lips, Rhaegar gave his palm a kiss. Then, his little son spoke in his usual solemnity. „Please, don't let Mama leave.“

 _Leave?_ Rhaegar frowned. „Why would you think your mother is going to leave, my sweet prince?“

 Jon only shrugged, but Rhaegar was not satisfied with this response.

„Listen to me, Jon. Your mother is not going anywhere, and neither am I. You are my family, and we will all be together for as long as it is in my power. Did you understand, my little prince?“ Jon offered a nod.

„I thought you were running late.“ Lyanna's voice called from the doorway.

„In fact, I am.“ Rhaegar gave Jon a little smile, then put him down. At the loss of height, Jon immediately appeared to pout. Rhaegar corrected the situation by leaning down to kiss his cheek and then ruffled his soft curls. „Go on, my little prince. Go to your mother.“ 

Jon indeed obeyed, crossing the length of the room in his toddling steps and stopping before Lyanna, who put her hands on his shoulders protectively. As Rhaegar moved to approach her, for a minute, she appeared so vulnerable kissing her forehead felt more appropriate than kissing her mouth. Rhaegar pressed a kiss to the side of her brow.

„I will see you later,“ he said significantly.

„Yes,“ she responded, but did not look up. „I will see you later.“

* * *

 

Shortly after Rhaegar's departure, a knock on the doors alerted Lyanna to other, expected visitors. Jon had been requesting to meet his cousin, and Lyanna had been all too glad to indulge him, and arrange for a playdate. As Jon craved companionship, Lyanna often did too; Ashara was the closest thing to a friend she had at this place.

„Hello, my dearest.“ Lyanna cooes to her little niece, as soon as the child tottered from its mother's skirts and into the room. „Oh my, how grown you are.“ Though children at that age all grew fast, for Lyanna, this was easier to notice on Anya than she did on her own Jon, seeing him every day. There had been perhaps a six moons difference between Anya and Jon, and they got along rather well as playmates. When they sat together on the floor, creating make-believe with their toys, one would only see two curly heads, with no way of discerning which was which. The girl herself could have even been mistaken for a young Lyanna, if not for her impeccable dress and a pretty satin bow in her curls.

Anya greeted her aunt politely, and even did an adorable curtsey for her. Then, she went to see what Jon was up to.

Lyanna invited the other woman over to the sofa, and the two took their seats. Soon, a servant-girl glided in, and served them a fresh cup of tea. Ashara grabbed her own, and took a small sip. Then she lowered her cup to her knees. „Tell me, how have you been doing, Your Grace?“

„Quite well.“ Lyanna answered instantly, though aware that was not the most candid description.„ I must tell you, I truly am glad to see you,“ she began, „but I must ask, where is that insolent fool of my brother?“ Ashara had complained in the past that Brandon took every opportunity to stray from her and their daughter, claiming he was suffocated by it all. This, in Lyanna's view, had been unacceptable; she never would have tolerated Rhaegar ignoring Jon.

 „I believe he went out riding.“ Ashara sighs. „To tell you the truth, I'm glad. Perhaps he will return calm, unlike how he'd been acting these past few days, like a caged animal. Even if he won't admit it, it is the rumors spreading that are greatly disconcerting and angering him. I tried telling him that is between you and Rhaegar, and even more, that Rhaegar would never dare do such a thing, but-“

Lyanna's brows furrowed. „Which rumors are you referring to?“

Ashara blinked with surprise, and appeared to have a thought to evade, but Lyanna kept staring at her, grey eyes hard as steel. The other lady lowered her purple gaze then, and collected her hands in her lap.

„If you would forgive me, Your Grace, the rumors that Rhaegar plans to use this tourney to announce taking a second wife. People say it is Robert Baratheon's threats that are cornering him in that position.“

 

* * *

 

Carrying her skirts, and breathing hard, Lyanna finally reached Rhaegar's office. Ser Gerold Hightower had been at the door, and kindly offered to announce her, but Lyanna ignored him, and pushed in herself instead.

Rhaegar had been surprised enough, and so had been the two men inside with him. As his one particular talent, he detected something was wrong, and sent the two men on their way.

 Lyanna straightened her shoulders and declared. „I wish to go home.“

„Home?“ Rhaegar's frown sent a clear message of confusion. _Your home is here._

„I know about this tourney, about Robert Baratheon, and your plan, all of it. I wish to go home, to Winterfell. I will not have it. I will not sit and watch children with silver hair and another woman's face run about these hallways. I cannot do it.“

At first, he seemed stunned, surprised with her declaration, as if he had no clue what she was speaking of. He had the gall to play the innocent fool. As if there  were any other reason to keep this from her.  „Lyanna, look at me.“ He stepped forward, placed a hand on her arm. Lyanna's jaw moved and her eyes averted but she did not gaze upon him. He grabbed hold of her chin. „Lyanna, look at me.There will be no such children. Please, listen to me, my love. If they aren't yours, then I do not wish for these children.“

„Your kingdoms wish for them.“ Lyanna says meekly, still looking down. „And they don't care which queen or whore gives birth to them.“

„I care.“ Rhaegar declares. „I don't want another queen or a whore, I only want you.“

„Aye, but what for?“ Lyanna asks in a suddenly small voice. Rhaegar blinked, perturbed by the question. „I am a mess. I'm practically insane. I drive _you_ insane half the time. How can you bear me, I don't know, I can't even bear myself.“ Her voice was heavy with regret and sorrow, emotions Rhaegar always thought they would suffer only if they were to be apart.

He moved to take a hold of her elbows. „I don't _merely_ bear you. I love you. Crazy you, angry you, I don't care. I still love you, and I will love you till the day I die.“

Lyanna fixed him with her grey eyes. „If you love me, you need to let me go. Let me go and do what your kingdom wants of you to do.“

„Never.“ Rhaegar shakes his head. „I will never let you go. Tell me what is wrong, my love.“ He urges her, takes her hand into his. He presses it to his lips. „Please tell me. I will fix it. I will make it better.“

Lyanna shakes her head. „You cannot make it better. It is not in your power.“

„Yes it is.“ Rhaegar assures. „I am the king, everything is in my power.“

„Not this.“ Lyanna says with a sad smile. „This is only within the Gods' power.“

„So, now you believe in the Gods?“ Rhaegar still remembered how she scoffed at the statues in the Sept of Baelor right before their coronation. She did visit the godswood frequently, but he'd likened that more to homesickness than piety.

„I always believed in them.“ Lyanna says, sniffling. „In the Old Gods. I just don't like the fancy, Southron ones you have here, mere statues for worship that have no eyes to see with. But my Gods have no power here.“ She says, softly shaking her head. „There may be some scarce weirwood here left still, but the Old Gods aren't truly here. They are in the North.“

Rhaegar observed her for a moment, not sure what to make of it.

„You know 'tis funny-„ she continues, smiling at some indeterminate spot in the floor. „When I was still at Winterfell, I prayed to the Old Gods not to let me get betrothed and married off to Robert, and truly, they did not allow this, despite both my father's and Robert's intentions. They protected me then, they listened to me then.“ She swallows after this, as if the part that was just to come was difficult in some more significant way. „I prayed to them for a babe here, and they gave me one, only to take it away before it was even born. Perhaps it is only one true request that one gets in one's life, and I used it to circumvent my father's will. At least such a thing would be in character, I suppose.“

 „Lyanna, listen to me.“ Rhaegar convinced, begging for her attention. „Perhaps it was the will of the Gods, perhaps it was not, it matters not. Aye, it was an unfortunate thing that happened, for the both of us, but we can get past it, you and I. We were happy before, we can be happy again.“ Though she barely listened anyway, her eyes closed after these words, as if he'd inflicted some injury on her.

He moved closer yet did not touch her; it is after visible hesitation that she met him the rest of the way, leaned herself against his chest. He thought he heard a slight sniffle come from there.

„Lya, please listen to me.“ He whispered to her ear, a hand moving, stroking her soft curls. „I swear it to you, I will do everything, anything you want me to do, anything to make you happy. Just talk to me, tell me what is it that you wish for.“

„Anything?“ She rises her head, inquires in her husky voice.

 „Anything.“ He confirms, leans his forehead against her own. He fully meets those grey eyes with thick, dark lashes, then lets his thumb trail over her cheek, strokes the lovely face that is now once again turning away from him. „Just tell me my love, tell me what you wish for, and I will do it.“

„Truly, you will?“ She asks again.

„I will.“ Rhaegar says once more.

„Will you let me go, then?“

„Not that, anything else.“ He says, now ghosting dangerously close to her lips. „Anything else.“

She scoffs.„You don't understand the word 'anything' very well, do you?“

He angered her, perhaps with his words, perhaps with his proximity, and good, he needed her to feel something.

 „Perhaps I don't.“ He returns edging even closer, and finally close enough to capture her lips with his own.

 Lyanna moaned at first, then she kisses him back as a hand moves to the back of his head, all of it known and natural as air, but then she pulls away.

„You always do this, don't you?“ she says angrily, moving to wipe her mouth. „You always aim to distract me...“

„For as long as it works.“ Rhaegar says, pulling her back to him again, kissing her again. This time he doesn't let her protest, instead he pushes her against the nearest wall, a hand already scrambling in her skirts. Lyanna breathes hard but doesn't pull away, she kisses him back instead, bites him till his lip is bloodied but he doesn't care in the slightest.  Soon enough, her skirts were lifted and her fingers were tangled in the laces of his breeches. His hands came to pin her wrists to the wall on either side of her head, not in domination, rather possession or simply plain out despair.

He fucked her fast, and he fucked her hard, harder than he would have liked, he fucked her until her eyelids fluttered and she threw her head back, then he kissed her neck, whispered her name against it and only then, with her fingers tightly pulling in his tresses, allowed himself to spill.

Both of them merely slumped against the wall, clothing and hair rumpled, breathing unsettled,  coming down from their height, yet even in this, they did not stay parted for long. He found himself kissing her neck and alongside her jaw over and over again, whispering in her ear, sweet and dirty words, every pledge and declaration of love he could think of.

And though she moaned for him, and peaked for him, when Rhaegar looked up at her, in her eyes he saw the eyes of a saddest bird trapped, taken with the gleam of her cage, but not enough to forget its deep-rooted desire for freedom.

 


	12. Heart-Shaped Box

 

The last morning of the tourney, Lyanna awoke to blood on her sheets. _Her moon's blood._ That had been a miserable enough way to start her day, another reminder of the uselessness of her womb, and a promise of discomfort for the entirety of the time she was to sit on display in the royal dais.

However, the misery was not to end there; much like for the entire duration of the tourney, today Rhaegar was to entertain the lords, and Lyanna the ladies. Lyanna thought their tasks badly distributed; Rhaegar in his mere presence would have charmed all the ladies on the spot, and Lyanna, trained in casual chats with men could have entertained the lords.The worst nuisance of it all had been Robert Baratheon, who decided to show his face after reportedly sulking in rage for years.  Lyanna was not sure if it was worse Rhaegar had to deal with him, or if she was to have to herself.

Lyanna, for half the fortnight the tourney claimed, had not yet crossed paths with the man. However, Rhaegar had and he'd claimed lord Robert had shown no antagonism toward him. Lyanna did not like it, this calming before the storm.

Having gotten ready herself, tightened into a light blue bodice with a matching flowing skirt, Lyanna sought out Jon, who himself had been adorably dressed into his tiny outfit. She'd crouched to fix his collar and then, with his little hand in her own, they exited her antechambers.

It was there in the hallway, with Ser Jaime and Jon's caretaker at her heels, that Lyanna was met with a long-dreaded surprise. She quietly urged Jon to go to his nanny, and with her head signaled to the woman to take him elsewhere.

Robert, who had been coming from the other end of the hallway, followed Jon's little form leave with hard blue eyes, and then turned those same eyes to herself. It was only then that they softened.

„Lyanna,“ he says, dropping all formalities, grasping a far too free hand to her elbow; his touch was not angry, but it was unsettling in its familiarity all the same.  

The wild, feral Lyanna as she was might've let Ser Jaime have a go at him for merely daring to touch her in such possessive manner, but the newly forged, queenly part of her warned it was not wise to invite a scandal over this.

She put a hand up, signaling to Ser Jaime to stay put. Then, as politely as she could, she addressed the man before her. „How may I help you, Lord Baratheon?“

 „Lyanna...what did he do to you? He threatened you, didn't he?“ Robert spoke in a low voice, only for her to hear, but the ire behind his words was showing all the same. „That dragonspawn threatened you. He threatened to kill you, threatened to kill your family, Brandon and Ned and they were too coward to defend you from him, and now you're scared of him. Then he got a child on you, more dragonspawn and who knows how many nights-“ His fists clenched. „ Fret not; I will free you from him. You won't have to be afraid of him ever again.“

Lyanna wondered how could a single man harbor so much obliviousness. The irony of course escaped him; that it was him that Lyanna feared right now, and the hidden meaning behind his words. What did he intend to do? Challenge Rhaegar to a duel? Start a war? With Robert, there was no telling, but Lyanna would try to pierce that thick skull of his with words anyway.

 „Robert, he did not do anything to me. I am here willingly. I am with him willingly. If the fact our betrothal did not come to pass hurt you, I am sorry for that, but I am happy now. You should try to be happy too.“

With that, Lyanna moved to walk past him, but his grip on her elbow stopped her again. „I understand that you must say that.“ His angry gaze lifted to Ser Jaime for an instant, and then back to herself. „I will free you regardless.“  

 

* * *

 

The final three matches claimed more time than the rest of the jousting event. The first had been between Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur; after countless mutually broken lances and impressive maneuvers by both men, it was Ser Arthur who took the victory. His next opponent had been Robert Baratheon. This mere idea sent blood to Lyanna's head; that man was more stubborn than a mule. After this morning, she could guess what was his intention – crowning her, but she placed her faith that Ser Arthur's glorious skill would stand an obstacle to that. However, on the off chance it were to occur, Lyanna thinks she would strangle him with the wreath itself. Crowning her caused enough scandals already.

Ser Arthur's skill was beyond impressive, and rarely paralleled, but it seemed on this damnable day the devils themselves aided Robert. He handled the lance in the most unusual, savage way, which was not surprising given the man far preferred the melee. However, what was surprising was his success in this. It was likely it was the element of surprise that allowed this - men perfecting this skill such as Ser Arthur or Ser Barristan simply were not used to someone handling the lance in such an abhorrent way. Even Lyanna, in her Mystery Knight escapade handled the lance with more grace than this.

Then after what felt like an entire hour of torture, and most of the audience stopped paying attention, a singular break of Robert's lance confirmed Lyanna's worst fears. Robert had won, and now he was going to hand that stupid wreath to her.

As the crowd cheered, Robert indeed dismounted from his large horse – a large horse to hold such a large man, and moved to approach the royal dais. _Don't you dare._ Watching him, Lyanna fumed inside and out, her chest rising and falling with indignation in the most apparent manner.

But then, instead of claiming the wreath as his reward, Robert, in all his physical presence, stood straight before the dais, empty-handed. This caused the audience to quiet; even Jon beside Lyanna stopped in his light fidgeting. Then, Robert spoke.

„For the final victory, I challenge you, Rhaegar Targaryen to a match.“

Lyanna's head instantly turned toward Rhaegar; _don't do it,_ her eyes intently counseled. It had been unheard of for the king to participate in the tournament he himself organized, even more, a rare man would risk seriously injuring the king, thus none could be expected to put on a sincere performance. But with Robert, Lyanna suspected that was exactly the intention. His match with Ser Arthur showed he did not fight with skill or elegance, merely raw, unrefined strength. Lyanna thought she herself may have some of this if he were to hurt Rhaegar. She would strangle him with her own hands. Still, she'd prefer it never came to it at all.

But everyone's eyes were fixed on them now, and Lyanna knew a refusal would be read as weakness. Rhaegar would not allow this, even if she got on her knees and begged.

Indeed Rhaegar straightened his shoulders, and with a slight sigh, declared. „Very well, Lord Baratheon. If that is your challenge, you will have to allow me to acquire proper armor.“

 Rhaegar stood from his elevated place beside Lyanna, and walked past her only enough for her to brush her fingers against his, and slip him her favor, a little piece of ribbon she tore from her sleeve.

Ser Oswell followed Rhaegar, and so did his squire. Robert impatiently paced back and forth, back and forth, and Lyanna thanked the gods again she didn't have to share her bed with such a man, who could most closely be described as a ball of smothering dominance. Robert could not stand still without drinking, fucking or killing something. Even Ned admitted to so much, that Robert did not hunt for sport but rather blood.

Soon enough, all heads turned to meet the sight of Rhaegar in his black armor with countless rubies, his posture straight atop a white horse. Lyanna knew the horse: it was the sturdiest steed from the royal stables, not quite as fast as some of Lyanna's mares, but stronger and more able to withstand someone heavier than her.

Then, both men lowered their helms, and the horn blew out. Even on their first meeting, it was obvious Robert was thirsty for blood. He swiped at Rhaegar with more rage than precision, and Rhaegar was able to easily avoid him. However, Robert's mere attitude of assault allowed Rhaegar little more than defence, and even if he seemed to avoid Robert effortlessly, he could hardly push Robert into defending himself. After so many exchanged positions, their horses carrying them back and forth, it was obvious both men were getting tired, but this only made Robert more determined. Rhaegar fought for sport, and Robert appeared as if his own death was a low cost for merely unseating him. _The stubborn oaf._

Then, after countless of encounters, with what seemed like the slightest slip of attention from Rhaegar, Robert's lance caught his chest with such inhuman force that rubies from Rhaegar's armor dispersed through the air as Rhaegar himself flew off his steed.

Gasps flew through the crowd, but Lyanna did not hear a thing. After two, three, five seconds he did not rise. _Rhaegar_ , she cried out, or merely shouted in her head. Terrified, Lyanna finally jumped from the royal dais, holding her skirts up she skipped the fence and ran into the dusty field, then held his head up. Even with his head protected by the helm, that Lyanna removed now, he seemed to have hit his head hard enough to lose consciousness.  

She raised her head to see Robert standing by the empty royal dais, his bright blue eyes on a red face suggesting he finally understood her meaning, staring at her with such hate it made her bones chill all over again. He then requested that damnable crown, and Lyanna would not look at him no longer. Surrounded by the Kingsguard, preoccupied with getting Rhaegar to wake up, she failed to take note of the notable fact the crown of blood red roses ended up on Cersei Lannister's head.

 

* * *

 

His body splayed in the sheets, Rhaegar awoke with a start. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was charging toward Robert Baratheon, and then darkness. He must have felled him, and judging by a still remaining blur before his eyes, his head had been concussed. Rhaegar looked to the empty chair by his bedside, and then he looked at his hand, laying in the sheets. A ghost of Lyanna's hand still lingered on it. Then he realized what had awoken him: Arthur's voice calling for Lyanna who'd previously sat by his bedside.

Shaking his head, Rhaegar allowed his feet to touch the ground. Finding them mostly sturdy, he rose up and began searching for more presentable clothes than what he'd worn under his armor, and now as his full attire. After he'd made himself mostly presentable, and redid the ponytail his hair had been bound in, he'd moved to his study. Despite the headache that tormented him, there would be no time to waste. Robert Baratheon had clearly shown himself to be a problem, and one that needed to be solved as quickly and as peacefully as possible. Rhaegar needed to offer him something in order to placate him, yet he suspected little would have that effect other than Lyanna herself.   

Then, a knock on the doors. It had been Lyanna, much with the same frazzled appearance she came to him a fortnight ago.

"Lyanna-"

Lyanna kept her eyes averted; her fists clenched and unclenched before she spoke. „I am here because I have something I need to tell you. A confession and a request to make."

Rhaegar squinted with curiosity at all this foreboding; however, he'd allowed her to continue.

She still wouldn't look at him. „All of this, the last few moons, this tourney, and even Robert's appearance, it made me realize something. Precisely, it made me realize that as much as I would have been wrong to marry him, I wasn't right in marrying you either. Back then, I suppose I was enchanted by the novelty of it, intrigued by the idea of freedom you offered me - and I, I mistook it all for love. Thus, for both our happiness, I ask you to relieve me of my vows, in everything but name if not otherwise, and allow me to go back home, to Winterfell.“  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I promise, the next chapter will be faster. I already have a portion of it written out. Also, for any character behavior in this chapter that might not have made much sense, namely for Lyanna, safe to say there was something off screen that influenced her and her thought-process behind it will be revealed in time.


	13. Bitter End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the scene from the previous chapter.

 

Rhaegar did not know what to say. Not when she spoke of their entire marriage as if it were a garment, tried on, unfitting, and now ready to be discarded. Still, a desire to argue, point out all the ways in which this had been wrong flared up within him; it was simply that when he licked his lips and attempted to speak, no words came out. How could he argue with her not loving him any longer?

„I am truly sorry.“ Lyanna says, red lips now pouting down at the floor. „'Tis just, I cannot keep depending on you to make me happy.“

_And I, am I expected to be happy without you?_

Truth be told, Rhaegar knew the chief reasons of her misery. But did he not share these same reasons, too? Did he not hold her when she sobbed, wiped away her tears and smoothed her hair when she would wake up lost, asking where was their babe? Promised it would get better even when he himself did not fully believe this? And yet, through all of these challenges, it had never occurred to him to end their union upon the first obstacle that presents itself.

Rhaegar licked his dry lips, then hoarsely spoke. „I am as affected by this as you are, Lyanna...“

„That is not true.“ Lyanna hisses, now in a bolder tone. „You have your whole world at your feet, you wake up in the morning, and you go off, and do things, and talk to people and I...this is all I have. Sometimes I look at Jon and I worry endlessly; I imagine the most ridiculous of scenarios, I wonder if he is lonely, I wonder if he would resent me, I wonder a million things. Because there is nothing else for me to do. So do not tell me you are just as affected by this as me, for you are not.“

„There are other things you could choose to do,“ Rhaegar points out. „I did not force you to reclose yourself from your entire world, that is a decision you made yourself-“

„My world?“ Lyanna scoffs. „'Tis not my world, it is yours. And I am stuck in it because I wanted you.“ She looks away after this declaration, and only adds as an afterthought. „My first and only mistake perhaps.“

 _Mistake?_ A surge of emotion was evoked within him at this choice of word; Rhaegar wanted to protest, tell her she was wicked, cruel, and most of all, that she was being terribly unfair, yet he somehow manages to remain his cool. „Well, if you feel that way...“ He takes pause and straightens his back, as if to build up to his conclusion. „Then you are free to leave. Go on, I shall not stop you.“

„What a grand offer,“ Lyanna returns bitterly. „You know I could never leave Jon behind. If I could take him, perhaps then I would leave. But I know better than to presume you would allow such a thing.“

„And you are right.“ Rhaegar tells her. „You, for yourself, are free to act as is your will, but you are not taking my son anywhere.“ A softer, annoying part of Rhaegar suddenly warned he was being too cruel, callous for ignoring certain truths he very well understood, and in order to escape this judgement from himself, he adds.„ If you do decide to leave too, I say you are free to see him whenever you would like, I've no need to deprive him of his mother's presence only to slight you. I would even allow for him to visit with you within certain, appropriate time spans, but he does not cease to be a prince just for his mother has decided to abandon her home.“

„This is not my home.“ She hisses right back at him. Then, her eyes flit off to the side, like at a thought. „Winterfell is my home.“ she adds then softer, with a sort of an unintended tenderness Rhaegar struggled to earn from her for many moons now. She loved that Northern castle more than she loved him, and it stung. Gods be good, this was all wrong, so wrong, yet he hadn't a clue of how to make it right again. Perhaps only Gods held that sort of power.

Suddenly, Rhaegar felt a bout of exhaustion overwhelm him, an expected side-effect of any quarrel for him, even more if it was one he lead with her. He leans forward, elbows against the table as he cradled his head into his hands. 

„How did we get from there to here?“ he heard himself ask desperately. Rhaegar was not even certain he expects an answer, yet, she offers one.

„I do not know,“ she says with a forlorn sigh. He does not believe her.

 _Tell me_ , Rhaegar almost wanted to insist. He wanted to know where it was that he had gone wrong, which instant was it exactly that had her decide their marriage was more trouble than it was worth. Yet, if she would not say, then he would not ask again.

Almost as one last hope, Rhaegar lifts his gaze to hers, perhaps hoping for a non-verbal answer, or at the very least, a small sign of struggle behind her eyes. He could not see any trace of emotion on her face besides tiredness. The moment of truce is made shorter by this fact.

„Very well then,“ he concludes. „You are free to leave for Winterfell whenever you like, given that your brother, Lord of Winterfell does not mind having you there. Further arrangements for Jon possibly spending there a moon around your nameday will be made by correspondence.“ Even now, he realizes it had only been a week since her last one. For it, he had commissioned a hard, silver pendant with a direwolf filigreed into its surface, and a blade concealed within. He knew it was unlikely she would wear it, for it would require her to forego her mother's pendant, yet he wished for her to have it. The design reminded him of herself even then - a thing of wild, feral beauty on the outside, but sharp and deadly if one were to get too close. He is snapped out of these musings for long enough to see signs of discontentment on her face.

„Only for my next nameday? That is too long a wait.“ she states plainly, yet he sees the fire behind her eyes. _Do not be cruel_ , they seemed to be saying. _Let me see my son._

„You are the one who is leaving, and you are free to visit here whenever you like.“ He tells her in defence of his announcement, or perhaps himself. „I will not have Jon spend his childhood on the road from Winterfell to King's Landing. Him visiting there may be a yearly affair at most.“ Though he stood behind his assessment stability was what was best for Jon, Rhaegar could not deny selfish motivations drove him as well, and thus he felt guilty. He wanted his intelligent, sweet prince by his side, he needed him within his sights, and even more if she was...

„No,“ she tells him clearly. „It is not enough. I am his mother and he needs me. You see, he is still little, he...“ she chokes with these words, stopping, just enough for him to see just how wounded by this she was. One part, a rational part of him tells him that is none of his concern anymore, that her emotions are none of his concern, yet another could not help but note a small glimmer of sadness in her eye, the way her breath so subtly hitched like under an unbearable weight, and how she struggled to keep herself composed despite all of this. He knew her, all too well, and perhaps that was his mistake.

Rhaegar closes his eyes as a well known feeling of acquiescing passes through him. „Very well. He stays with you and he visits with me. But you will not interfere with the times when I desire to have him by my side, and you shall allow him to come here whenever he so wishes.“ Void words, they were. Rhaegar knew better than anyone just how much Jon loved and was attached to his mother, how unlikely it was he would choose to be away from her side to visit with his all but estranged father by circumstance.

 „Alright, then.“ She allows curtly. „He stays with me, and he visits with you. I shall hold you to your word on that.“

 _Words are wind,_ Rhaegar finds himself thinking. As sweet-tasting in one's mouth as some were, all of them were as long-lasting and fickle as wind, as easily brushed away and forgotten, with a new set of words to replace them. _I am yours and you are mine_ seemed to mean less than he once expected it to.

„Very well, then. You are excused.“ He heard himself say, not looking at her. Indeed, it is not long after these words that the shadow of her looming over his desk dissolves, and she silently departs. As the corner of her black skirts disappears behind the doors, Rhaegar finds his eyes closing shut.

 


	14. Come as You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving to Winterfell :)

 

 _Gods be good. What time was it? Today had been the day of the queen's arrival._ Catelyn rubbed the sleep from her eyes, then, discarding the sheets, she briskly got up. Wrapping her robe about herself, she'd called for a servant to draw her a bath.

There had been no time to waste. In fastest possible fashion, Catelyn bathed and dressed, and then exited her chambers in search of her husband. She'd found him at the castle grounds, speaking with the Winterfell's maester-in-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel.

„My Lady,“ the man greeted.

„Ser Rodrik,“ Catelyn returned the greeting. Then turned her attention to her husband. „Ned, I must speak with you.“

„Nothing must be amiss,“ Ned told Ser Rodrik, who bowed and retreated shortly after.

„What is on your mind, my lady?“ Her husband asked. „Is all well? You appear upset.“

 „Gods be good, Ned, how could you have allowed me to oversleep? Your sister the queen's arrival is expected today, and I-„

Ned took her hand, and lightly squeezed it. „Pray do not fret, my love. I let you sleep for I thought you needed some rest; Sansa had been keeping you up last night, and the few before it, too. You were not needed this early in the morrow, I had been entertaining what remained of the preparations for my sister's arrival.“

„ But there is still so much to be done. Surely, accommodations will need to be made for the queen's traveling party; in the last letter, she mentioned the number of knights traveling with her, and at the very least, they will need to be given a good night's rest. The food for the tonight's feast is also yet to be prepared, and...Ned, what if the queen comes early? I haven't had her old chambers prepared for her yet.  Gods be good, at the very least, they need to be thoroughly cleaned and fresh sheets be put-“

Initially, Catelyn had meant to give the queen the largest and most beautiful guest room, but Ned had insisted Lyanna would prefer to stay in her old rooms. Of course, the queen's own girlhood chambers remained vacated in her absence; when Catelyn had approached Ned with a desire to redecorate and repurpose some rooms within the castle, the only condition given was that she not touch his siblings' childhood rooms.

„Do you suppose your sister may desire anything particular be brought to her rooms? We need more candles; does she like to read at night? At the very least, there need be flowers to bring some life into it; I've seen the room, it is a no more than a dire little chamber. Hardly becoming of a queen.“

Ned merely chuckled at her panic, and then kissed her head. „Trust me, Lyanna used to run about these hallways covered in mud, seeing little wrong with it. She will be pleased either way.“

Lyanna had not lived in Winterfell for years, for as long as Catelyn had, and yet Catelyn could not help but feel like a stranger still, an imposter merely hoping to appropriately welcome a woman back into her own home. Regardless of what her lord husband said, everything had to be perfect; not just today, but for the remainder of the queen's stay, which according to Ned had been announced as indefinite. This struck Catelyn as odd, surely a queen, the mother to the prince no less, could not afford too long an absence from the capital.

Cat wrung her hands before her. „Ned, I must ask... do you know anything of the queen's motivations behind this journey? It does not appear to be a mere courtesy visit.“

„I could not tell you,“ Ned sighs. „From all she had written me, it appears she had a fallout with the king. And knowing my sister, it is like she is running North to hide. She always was like that, particularly if something went wrong through a fault of her own.“ Though it was no positive trait, a little smile lingered on Ned's lips as he said it. Ned loved his sister, so much he saw even her flaws in a positive light.

„In any case, I hope it is nothing grave,“ Catelyn expressed.

Ned sighed. „As much as I'd love to have my sister here, for her own sake, I hope so as well.“

 

* * *

 

The queen's traveling party had not been as large as Catelyn expected, and it had been preceded by the queen riding astride her horse, almost as one would expect a man to do. She'd been closely followed by the member of the Kingsguard and Catelyn's cousin, Ser Oswell Whent. If Catelyn hadn't known her a queen, she would have hardly guessed it from her appearance, as Lyanna had been dressed in a typical Northern style riding dress, and her short curls drifted in the wind, unbound. As she dismounted, Catelyn noted the breeches she wore under. Realizing she stared, Cat quickly inclined her head downward, shifting Sansa in her arms as the queen approached the people lined to greet her.

„Dearest Ned!“ she cried to her brother, grasping for his hands. „I must say you haven't grown one bit.“ Catelyn smiled; it had been a humorous remark considering Ned was a man grown.

„From your appearance, I must say you haven't grown much either,“ Ned said with a sigh, surely referring to the queen's still apparent childish endeavors.

„Oh, hush you.“ Lyanna swatted his arm. „You can berate me later. Or I shall decide I like your lady wife better than you. Cat,“ then the queen crooned, in a warm husky voice. „It is lovely to see you,“ As the queen said this, Catelyn noted a little boy who tottered to his mother, now shyly hiding behind her skirts. Lyanna ruffled his dark curls, that were much reminiscent of her own. „Go Jon, go meet your uncle, than you'll meet your cousins.“

„And who is this?“ Lyanna inquires with wonder, grasping Sansa's little hand and kissing the tips of her fingers. „Little Sansa, aren't you lovely, my dearest. Look at you, you'll grow and be as beautiful as your mother,“ Catelyn smiled shyly at the queen's kind words.

„And you must be Robb,“ she said finally. She knelt down to Robb's level, and gave him her hand. „I am your aunt Lyanna. How are you, dearest?“

„I am very well,“ Robb replied in his dutiful child voice. „How is Your Grace?“

 Lyanna laughs loudly; then, with her hand, she ruffled Robb's hair.„Goodness, how sweet you are! But you may call me your aunt, or Lyanna.“ Catelyn did explain to her children- well Robb mostly, for Sansa could not yet speak, that while Lyanna was his aunt, she was also their queen, and he should address her respectfully. But who was she if Lyanna did not wish to be addressed as such.

Jon, being briefly held by Ned, soon joined his mother. „Oh, and this is Jon,“ Lyanna says. „He is your cousin.You can play together if you'd like.“

„Hello, my name is Robb.“ Robb greeted the other boy.

„I am Jon,“ the little prince says. The prince had looked not one bit a Targaryen, but rather as his mother's true child, much like both of Catelyn's children took after her.

„I have a wooden sword, would you like to see it?“

Jon nodded silently.

„Go on then, pup. “ Lyanna quickly kissed her son's head. „Go with your cousin.“  The two boys went side by side, already speaking to each other; both were of the same height and of curly heads, one dark as night itself, and the other shining in copper. They did make an adorable sight.

„Come now, Lya,“ Ned had said, hand affectionately brushing his sister's arm. „Let us go inside. You must be tired, and there is a feast to attend in the evening.“

„A feast?“ Lyanna inquired incredulously. „For me?“

  „Aye, for you,“ Ned says. „Must I not celebrate that my sister came all the way North to visit me?“

„Your sister would have rather that she never left in the first place,“ Lyanna says, suddenly solemn. Catelyn felt the mood turn sour.

 

* * *

 

After the midday meal, the queen and the little prince retreated to get some rest. Catelyn had been sitting in her room, nursing Sansa when a small knock on the doors came.

„May I come in?“

„Your Grace,“ Catelyn immediately says, rising to her feet and fixing her dress. Sansa let out a little dissatisfied huff.

„No, please, don't let yourself be bothered. I don't mind if you feed her. Or, if you would prefer your privacy, I can come later-“

„No, please, come in, Your Grace,“ Catelyn eagerly offered. „Take a seat. Though I must ask, why aren't you resting? I hope your room is to your liking- if the daylight is bothering Your Grace, we can surely get you some curtains-“

Lyanna merely sighs, having lowered herself into a chair and her hands to her lap. „I simply couldn't sleep. Jon did fall asleep like a babe, the journey truly tired him even if he spent most of it in the wheelhouse.“

„Children are like that,“ says Catelyn with a little tilt of her head. „They can fall asleep anywhere, at any time.“ The little Sansa nestled to her breast corroborated this for her, having dozed off. „See?“

Lyanna smiled lopsidedly, looking at Sansa. „She truly is beautiful. Look at her, she is such a darling. I can already promise you, as soon as she grows up a bit, I shall spoil her senseless. Robb too.“

„We would be honored, Your Grace.“ Perhaps the queen felt a special sort of kinship to her nephews, having only a single child herself; Catelyn had heard rumors relating to her infertility. It had been a sad destiny for any woman; so much in a woman's life depended on her ability to bear children, especially for a queen. Perhaps that was the source of her falling out with the king as Ned had mentioned. Since her arrival, there had been a certain forlorn air to the queen that Catelyn had never sensed before. Though she laughed easily and led light-hearted conversation, even now, looking at the young woman, Cat could see something had weighed on her, a sort of a lingering sadness she hadn't been able to shake off. It read as heartbreak more than anything else.

 „I do not mean to pry, Your Grace-„ Catelyn began cautiously.

„Lyanna,“ Lyanna says, extending a hand to put it on Catelyn's own. „You are Ned's wife, and to me that makes you a sister I never had. And ask anything you'd like.“

„Catelyn smiled as a pretty pink blush rose to her cheeks. „You honor me, Your G-. Lyanna.“

 „To tell you the truth, I never was fond of the title,“ Lyanna says. „No one who calls me thus cares one bit for me.“

„I am sure that is not true,“ Returns Catelyn fiercely. It had been awful, incomprehensible for her that a queen could ever be detested. And yet, there was no denying of Lyanna's somewhat... peculiar nature. It did not appeal to everyone. „At the very least, I am sure you have the king's love, that much is plain as day.“ Catelyn took her hands into hers. „Lyanna, I have seen the way he looks at you. The king adores you, and that you grieve his absence is plain as well. I must ask then, as your sister; why did you leave? Had the court truly been that awful to you?“

Lyanna sighed, and pulled her hands back to herself, fidgeting. Catelyn feared she had insulted the queen, caused her to reclose, however, Lyanna soon spoke with unusual candor. „Because he is better off without me. Because stealing me was a mistake.“ She looked downwards into her lap. „And, because I don't want him to go to war for me. I do not wish for him to die.“

„War?“ Catelyn inquired, her arched brows raising.

„I do not know, Catelyn, but I fear it. I am sure you heard of what Robert Baratheon did at the tourney. Before it, he flat out threatened Rhaegar with a rebellion in order to retrieve me.“ Lyanna's voice turned more resentful. „Of course, Rhaegar never said anything of this to me, he never told me anything at all. I heard of it from others.“

 „It is possible he did not wish to worry you,“ Catelyn suggests. „Perhaps it is not as grave as you imagine it to be-“

„Do you know who told me all of this? His closest friend and companion, Ser Arthur Dayne. He told me Rhaegar needed to marry Cersei Lannister in order to keep the Lannisters on his side and avoid them siding with Robert, but that he refused to do it time and time again because of me. Because he would never let me go, and he would not have another wife beside me. So, I told him I loved him no longer, and I left. To protect him. Because I would rather he be alive somewhere out there far, than die for me.“ Lyanna averts her misted eyes then, and sighs. „I only took Jon with me, I could not be quite so selfless. And I am sure he hates me for that as well.“

„I doubt that he hates you, Lyanna.“ Catelyn assured, taking her hand again. „He might be angry, but if he knew-“

„He will never know.“ Lyanna furrowed her brows fiercely. „If he knew, then all of this would be for naught. But I still don't know how I will bear it,“ she says. „Only the thought of him near that woman makes me want to wring her neck. She's hated me and wanted him for so long. And I pushed him into her arms. I am here hoping that he marries her, but also that I never have to hear of it, for I might as well wish to jump off a tower now. But Jon needs his mother.“

„There has to be some other way. The two of you love each other so much. To sentence both of you to a life without the other... I don't even know how I would bear if I had to be separated from Ned. If only you'd told your husband your concerns, perhaps the two of you could have come up with a solution -“

„The solution is clear. I have to let him go. I have to forget about him. I just do not know how. He was married before and he can marry again. But he is the only man I've ever known. He is the only man I ever loved. But then I think that if Brandon could fuck the entire Mole's Town, surely I could find someone to keep my mind off him.“

Catelyn's mouth flew open at the implication. „Gods be good Lyanna, how can you say that? You are still married before the Gods, and you're a lady-„

„I am not a lady, Catelyn,“ Lyanna says with a sad smile. „Not a lady, and not a queen. Merely a girl who grew up too fast.“

 


	15. Love Buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said a Lyanna chapter is next, but I changed my mind. Here's a Rhaegar chapter instead (with some Jaime for good measure).

 

Jaime smirked from the doors; for the past ten minutes, he'd been observing his sister as she turned  an abandoned vanity upside down. „You do realize, that you are obsessed with Lyanna Stark far more than the man you claim you love? If I didn't know you better, I would think you were in love with her and jealous of him.“

„I am not in the mood for your antics today, Jaime,“ his sister returned in a flat tone.

Jaime smirked again. „Of course not.“ He'd been out of his Kingsguard armor as he had not been on duty; the queen's departure with Oswell left him with plenty of time unspent. In plain clothes, Jaime sat back on the queen's bed (for how many men could say they had that opportunity), then let his upper body drop into it too. This had been the last place where anyone would stumble upon them; Rhaegar avoided this room like the plague, and no one else had a reason to frequent an abandoned chamber.

„You know, they fuck here all the time,“ Jaime said.

„You don't need to remind me.“

„I know, I just thought you might, you know-“ Jaime aimlessly gestured with a hand.

„Please. I am not that desperate. Especially since soon enough, I will have a true opportunity of entering his beds.“

 „Here it is,“ Cersei finally notes with satisfaction, holding a little crystal bottle in hand.

Jaime frowned. „What is?“ What could she have possibly found of use in a half-emptied chamber?

He rose to his feet and approached Cersei, who pulled out the dropper from the little bottle and passed it before his nose.

Jaime blinked twice at the smell that reached him. „Her perfume.“

 

 

* * *

 

_Your Grace. Your Grace. Rhaegar._

„Rhaegar!“

„What?“ Rhaegar's head snapped up. He'd been nursing a headache, and also been far too tired and irritable to pretend he were anyway else.

Jon observed him with lively eyes slanted and muscled arms crossed. „Did you just hear a word of what I said?“

„No,“ Rhaegar said, now softer. Jon had been one of the few men who would dare pick a fight with him, and Rhaegar did not currently have the energy for it.

Jon still observed him with daggers for eyes.

„Rhaegar, this needs to stop.“

Rhaegar rubbed his forehead, as he asked disinterestedly. „What does?“

„You pining after her. You're turning into...into Robert Baratheon, for Gods' sake,“ Jon said with an edge of distaste. „You're irresponsible, you're sloppy, you're missing council meetings, and you drank more in the past fortnight than you did in the entire past year. As your Hand of the King, and as your friend, I simply feel it is my duty to point certain things out.“

„Your observations are noted,“ Rhaegar said in a dull voice. „And I am not pining, I am simply...trying to get accustomed to this new order of things. She took my son, Jon.“

„Because you let her!“ Jon cries out. „Because you indulge her childish whims, and she doesn't even show an ounce of gratitude for any of it. She did you a favor by leaving you.“

„So, what is it that you were saying before?“

„Cersei Lannister. Have you made a decision yet?“

„I don't know,“ Rhaegar sighs. „I am still thinking on it.“

„There is nothing to think about!“ Jon cried again, in a high voice that made Rhaegar flinch. „Gods be good, 'tis not like I'm trying to wed you to Lysa Tully. She is, quite literally, the answer to all your problems. Tywin Lannister, Robert Baratheon, and she, unlike... _Lyanna,_ „ Rhaegar could see he struggled not using a less flattering term, „will most surely birth you many sons. And she is beautiful! So what is there to think about?“

„You are right,“ Rhaegar flatly says. „It appears to be a perfect match.“

„So, should I get on it then?“

„Get on what?“

„The wedding preparations,“ Jon deadpanned. „The betrothal should be announced first; all the arrangements must be made, invitations need to be sent out...all in all, it may take a moon or two. I will have someone else work out the details; and, I know it before you say it, no winter roses.“

Rhaegar sent him a glare of death. „Just... slow down, Jon. I am not yet signing off on this.“

„Rhaegar, there is no time to waste-“

„I said, not yet,“ Rhaegar deadpanned. „A certain grace period should pass. How do you suppose it will seem if I wed again right after her departure, like I sent her away to be rid of her? No, it is utterly distasteful to do this right away.“

„But you will do it, eventually?“ Jon inquired with a skeptical brow.

 „Eventually, I suppose.“ 

„I knew it,“ Jon grumbles. „I knew it, this is why you wouldn't free her of her vows. Because you still hope she will slink back to your side with her tail between her legs and you, like the fool that you are would take her back. No matter the fact she doesn't deserve to eat bread at your feet. “

He could not deny it; it was true, Rhaegar found consolation in the fact she had at no point asked to be freed of their vows. As long as they were wed still, there existed a chance that they would find their way back to one another, as miniscule at it may be. Yet, if he were to do this, if he were to take another wife, then this would mean a final nail in the coffin of their union, and Rhaegar was not certain he could bring himself to do it. 

„You are holding out for a woman who left you, and doesn't want anything to do with you,“ Jon cries out. „She doesn't share your bed, she doesn't even share your castle! There are many a maiden who would be thrilled to have half the things you had given her, and would cherish them above all. And, out of all of them, you had to go and marry an ungrateful b- “

 „Do not speak of her like that,“ Rhaegar warns. „She is still your queen and you will respect her in my presence.“

„But 'tis true!“ Jon protests in turn.

„So what would you have me do, Jon? Hate her? Pretend she never existed? If nothing else she is still the mother of my child.“

Jon waves a hand. „I'd be a fool to try to tell you how to feel. The only thing I wish is for you to avoid a funeral for us all and marry Cersei Lannister. You can brood over Lyanna later.“

„Very well, then,“ Rhaegar allows through gritted teeth. „I will marry Cersei Lannister. However, when an opportune time presents itself.“

„That was all I desired to hear.“

 

 

* * *

 

 

After his meeting with Jon, Rhaegar had felt tired, and wished to retire to bed.  On his journey there, he'd met two servants who bowed to him, and strangely enough, no guards before the doors. Rhaegar did not linger on it much, and let himself in. Though no material changes could have been detected by sight, something peculiar could be sensed in the air.  Rhaegar moved cautiously into the room, intently searching for a reason to this change, until his eyes found themselves caught by the sight atop his bed.

She was there, naked as the day she was born, laying on his bed, her head supported by a hand. Then, she rolled onto her back, stretching like a cat, one leg bent so his attention moved to her thighs. The tautness he could imagine there made him throb.

„Are you alone?“ She leaned back, and stretched her arms above her head, her small, pert breasts rising up. Then she gave a sigh. „I am alone.“

Rhaegar took a step closer. „Then why did you leave?“

 „I don't know.“ She sighed that same sigh again. „Why did you let me leave?“ she asks then.

„Because you asked me to.“

„So you wanted me to stay?“

Even in this dream, she managed to anger him. Rhaegar licked his lips, then spoke,„I believe I made my own desires clear. It was you who-“

Lyanna chuckles; with her arms still stretched above her head, she flashed him a wicked smile. _„Do not fret. We will see one another again.“_

Rhaegar's head jerked up, and his bleary eyes struggled to focus. It had all been a dream, a frustratingly emotion-inducing dream, as was evidenced by the almost empty cup of wine on the desk before Rhaegar, as well as the stiffness in his neck. Perhaps Jon's warnings did have some sense in them, after all.

A knock on the doors came. A servant certainly; Rhaegar did not need any more wine, he simply wanted it. „Come in,“ he called.

 But there had been no servant with wine, nor a reprehensive Jon at the other side of the doors, but rather the blonde lady whose topic of Rhaegar evaded at every turn. He reached for the last sip from his cup, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

Rhaegar took one long look at her. Aye, she had been fair, even exceptionally so, it could be said. Green eyes, full pink lips, unraveling almost like a gentle rose, and long golden tresses. Rhaegar had noticed this fact before, though he never lingered on it.

There had simply been no space to contemplate any other, her or anyone else, when a little she-wolf occupied his vision, permeating all his thoughts and dreams and senses. But she had left, abandoned him, leaving behind a void the size of herself, that try as he might, Rhaegar could not fill with anything else. But this did not mean he would not try.

Rhaegar got up to his feet, as wobbly as they initially felt, and came face to face with the lady. Now golden locks and a flash of green occupied his blurry vision, but that familiar scent still burned in his nose, chasing him like a ghost. An instinct came over him nearly, to smooth back the disobedient pieces of hair away from her face, but the long, golden tresses before him were perfectly arranged into uniform ringlets.

Rhaegar had never been a slave to baser desires; what he lacked in the sensual, he made up in the intellectual, he found fulfillment in music rather than flesh. But she had taken this also, then left, leaving him parched, and any reminder of her erotic in his mind. Her mere scent had awoken his desires, and Rhaegar felt the urge to lick his dry lips.

 „She had injured you, my lord, I know. But it makes her the greater fool. She is selfish, and doesn't deserve you. Allow me to heal you, my lord.“ With those words, Cersei kissed him, and perhaps overwhelmed with emotion from his dream, Rhaegar kissed her back. But the illusion is soon broken; for her hair is a bit too timid underneath his fingers, her tongue a bit too shy in his mouth, and Rhaegar cannot do it.

He pulled them apart, which resulted in a slight smooch from Cersei's pink lips. With the lady's questioning eyes on him, Rhaegar murmured a lackluster excuse, and then left.

 


	16. Every You Every Me

 

„I've almost forgotten how beautiful it is here,“ Lyanna said, running her fingers along the trunks of the trees that were within her reach, feeling the frost that coated them cooling her skin. Aye, winter was always coming, and for a Southroner, the winter always resided here in the North.

„This is your home,“ Ned replied. „It is only natural you miss it. But one cannot spend one's entire life in melancholy.“

„There is more to it than that, dearest Ned,“ Lyanna returns breathily, like through a dream. „I feel like I can breathe better here.“

Just as Ned had meant to reply, something intercepted him.

„Mama, mama!“ Jon cried; he came tottering excitedly as he held something in his small hands. It seemed the North had enchanted Jon also, and the abundance of new experience awoke some childish excitement in her usually solemn little son.

„What is it pup?“ Lyanna asked, crouching down to get a better look at what he brought.

„Look mama, look,“ Jon urged, giving her the larger pine cone out of the two he collected. The sight, unremarkable, and common enough in the Northern forests had been unfamiliar to her Southron-raised son. _I should have brought you here years ago_ , Lyanna mused.

„There are more in the trees,“ Jon tells her, „but I found these on the ground.“

„They are wonderful, pup,“ Lyanna said, kissing the tip of his nose. Then, a satisfied Jon ran off once more in search of his cousin.

„So,“ Ned began began beside herself. „Would you mind telling your brother what keeps you so solemn?“

Lyanna's ears immediately perked up at that knowing tone. Dearest, old Ned, asking the questions he already knew the answer to. „Cat has loose lips,“ Lyanna quipped.

„She was worried for you,“ Ned responds. „As am I. Tell me, would you not tell me otherwise? Do you not trust me?“

Lyanna gave a sigh. „Of course I trust you, dearest Ned. It is just - you see, it is simply,“ she struggled for the proper word. „It is difficult. I do not wish to think about it, let alone speak.“

Ned sighed as well, but a little smile could have been detected on his face as well as he spoke. „You were always fond of evading. Even since you were a child; I remember that whenever you would cause some mishap, you would rather hide under a table for hours and have us looking for you, rather than come out and admit to what you've done.“

„You see, this is why I didn't tell you,“ Lyanna responds morosely. „Because I knew you would open your mouth, and Father's words would come out.“

Ned chuckled. „Do I truly sound like him that much?“

„More,“ Lyanna replied.

Ned laughed some more, yet, it did not take long for a serious tone to overtake the conversation again. „You know I will have you here for as long as you wish to be here. But think well of what you're doing. You are separating your son from his father.“

„His father is free to see him whenever he likes,“ was Lyanna's immediate reply. „And I know this is better for Jon. He will be happier here.“

„And what about you? Will you be happier here?“

Ned did always have the talent for striking the correct nerve. Lyanna blinks away, then says more meekly than she would have liked. „My happiness doesn't matter any longer. All that matters is Jon, and his safety. And I could not have left him in that pit of vipers for even a minute longer.“

„So, it is a compromise? Are you certain it is the correct one?“

 Lyanna suddenly chuckled. „Dearest Ned, if there was anyone besides Father I could count on to tell me to do my duty, to consider the greater good, it was you. Now you suggest I follow my heart?“

Ned's smile was mild. „Perhaps I've since found a heart of my own.“

With a grin herself, Lyanna was just about to reply something most teasing, but it was then that Jon had emerged once more, carrying some sort of a white fuzzy beast in his arms.

Lyanna groaned. „Jon, for the love of the Gods, what is that?“

„It is a puppy,“ Jon said matter of fact, lifting his wide grey eyes to his mother's; it was surely in attempt of charming her, but Lyanna wasn't having it.

„That is no dog,“ Ned said beside herself. „'Tis a wolf-pup.“

„Jon,“ Lyanna said in a repremanding tone. „Go put him back where you found it. Its mother will surely be looking for it.“

At this, Jon had simply pouted down, and shifted the weight of the little pup in his arms. Only then did both Lyanna and Ned note the crimson stain in the pup's otherwise white fur, a clear trace of blood.

„I will see what is happening,“ Ned had said beside her.

To her utter misfortune, for the entirety of the time that Ned was gone, Lyanna was stuck with the image of the sweet pup as it snuggled in Jon's little arms, its pink tongue darting out at times to lick at his cheeks. The wolf-babe lifted its little muzzle then, and mock-howled into the air, though no true sound came out. Lyanna felt such excruciating pity for it.

„Its mother has been dead for at least a day,“ Ned said upon his return. „And the pup is too young, it will not survive out here by itself.“

„Mama!“ Jon immediately protested at that, and even the so far stoic Robb began pouting.

„Jon.“ She looked to him with reprimand. „You already have a dragon.“ One dangerous animal more than sufficed him for a pet.

„But Mama,“ he pouted sweetly, looking to her much with the same pup eyes as the fuzzy creature bundled up in his embrace.

„Fine,“ Lyanna breathes unhappily at last. „You can keep him, but it is you who will take care of him, you cannot foist him off to anyone else. You will have to feed him and train him and brush his coat. He will grow to be very big, you know.“

„I know.“ Jon says sweetly. „Thank you, mama.“

„Go on then, pup.“ Lyanna tells him. She ruffled Jon's dark curls much like her own, then leaned to give him a kiss on his little head. In turn, Jon marched forward; his new pet in arms, he went off to join his cousin.

 „Children.“ Ned remarks beside herself, a soft smile on his solemn face.

„Children.“ Lyanna confirms, sighing.

 

* * *

 

 

After their return to the castle grounds, having directed Jon to ask for milk to feed his new pup, Lyanna assumed the surprises of this day were over, however, the sight that met her soon had proven she was wrong.

 Ned had been speaking to no one other than the Lord of the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton, but it was the boy – nay, the man, beside the chilly lord that drew all of Lyanna's attention. Domeric Bolton, her long not seen playmate, and the only one that could rival her in horseriding in all of North.

„Your Grace,“ Roose Bolton offered in his iron, chilly tones, and beside himself, Domeric did the same.

Lyanna mock huffed.  „Dearest Domeric, it is futile to flatter me now, after years of incessantly pulling on my braids. Do not doubt that with my newly acquired power, I shall have my revenge.“

„It is nice to see you, Lya,“ he said smiling, and Lyanna laughs as well, letting him pull her into a hug.

„Shall we, Lord Stark?“ Roose Bolton offered then. The tone of his voice reminded Lyanna of the bone-chilling sensation she used to receive from the man even when she was a child.

„Of course,“ Ned nodded to the man, and the two retreated, leaving Domeric and Lyanna alone.

„Dearest Domeric,“ Lyanna gasped, grabbing his hands to get a better look at him, this significant part of her past that had now been in front of her. It still stunned her how tall he was. „Look at you, a true Northern lordling you are, accompanying your lord father to his meetings. Tell me, what have you been up to for all these years?“

„Nay, you know me Lya, I would rather ride around any castle he is sitting in,“ Domeric answered with a boyish grin. „I only came because I heard you were here as well. And now I see it with my own eyes. Was that your own little boy that I saw there? The one with the same head of curls? Gods, the time truly does fly.“

„It does, it does,“ Lyanna responds breathily. „His name is Jon; I would introduce you to him, but I fear he is too busy now. He found himself a wolf-pup in the Wolfswood – now that I think on it, much we did once when we were little, do you remember? Except its mother nearly mauled us for it then.“

„Aye, I remember.“ Domeric says, smiling. „I will just settle for his mother then.“  He offered her his arm to hold onto while they walked, and Lyanna accepted.

 

* * *

 

Domeric gazed thoughtful upon the heart tree that had been above their heads. She and Domeric had spent the last couple of hours reminiscing in the Winterfell's godswood, his lord father and all else forgotten in favor of childish memories. He gave a sigh. „Sometimes I consider that, if certain things had gone differently, you could have been my wife. Could you imagine?“

„How come?“ Lyanna asked, thoroughly surprised. „You never told me of this.“

He smiled. „I never did have any reason to tell you; it had been before Robert Baratheon, before Rhaegar Targaryen, before all of it. Long before, when we were still children, my Lord Father had asked for your hand in my stead, but your lord father had refused him. It appeared he even then had larger ambitions for you. But, as you can imagine, my father never truly got over it.“

Lyanna chuckles. „Oh, the great honor of being given the daughter of your liege lord. Yet, the Gods punished my father for his grand ambitions anyway, by ruining his plans. I even did wed later above my own standing, yet my father had hardly been content with it. Such is fate I suppose, it ridicules the things we want.“

„I suppose so,“ Domeric sighs. „Now I am betrothed to another, and all I can do is bemoan the fact she doesn't seem fond of horses in the slightest.“

„Lord Cerwyn's daughter, is it?“ Lyanna asked brightly. Then, she snorted. „Even when she was young, she wouldn't go anywhere near one, fearing it would kick her, or even worse, that she would soil her dress. While I, the daughter of her liege lord wrestled with my youngest brother in the mud. Only now, looking back I realize it couldn't have been easy for my father with me. He likely would have traded me for any of his bannermen's proper daughters if he could.“

Domeric smiled „And yet, none of them were either as fair, nor as brave as you were. In a dress or not, any Northern lordling would have been jumping with joy to have you.“

„Aye, to have the daughter of Winterfell,“ Lyanna says. „That was my one redeeming quality; otherwise, my father would have been fortunate to wed me to a peasant.“

Domeric merely chuckled. „You truly are oblivious, Lya, you were oblivious then and you are oblivious now. Every Northern lordling gazed upon you with awe, whether he knew which house you belonged to or not. And once they learned your name, they would bemoan their fate, knowing they couldn't even dream of being given your hand.“

Lyanna snorted. „Now you're truly speaking nonsense. Even you, pray tell?“                                               

„Especially me,“ Domeric says, moving to put a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. Lyanna immediately felt the mood around them shift; was he...attempting to court her?

 „What happened to you, Lya?“ Domeric asked, now brushing a bold hand against her cheek. „I know you didn't return just for nothing; there are rumours going around that the king plans to take a second wife. What a wretched fool. Or perhaps he was a fool to take you in the first place, for everyone knows a winter rose cannot survive for too long outside of North.“

 _Had things been different, I never would have truly left._ In truth, Lyanna remembered having the largest crush on him in her early maiden days, the older Bolton boy, who rode like an arrow and seemed to take her for who she truly was. But then, one day Lyanna saw him exchanging shy looks with a comely blonde servant girl, and thus all her girlish hopes shattered. She cried herself to sleep that night, and woke up the next morning, never thinking of him like that again. Only years later did Rhaegar come along, and Lyanna found she could not forget him quite as easily.

 „I have always wanted to kiss you, Lya,“ Domeric confesses, now tilting his forehead against hers. „May I?“

Lyanna's eyes met his own dark ones; soundlessly and seamlessly, she had nodded. Domeric indeed moved closer, however, just before his lips had a chance to meet hers, Lyanna jolted away. _You bloody fool._

„I, I...forgive me,“ she breathed most awkwardly. „I must go.“

And thus, Lyanna left her girlhood dreams, and any pretense of a different life behind.

 

* * *

 

It was late evening, and Lyanna had been reading a book when a knock on the doors came in. Catching a glimpse of her goodsister's auburn locks, Lyanna immediately straightened herself out in bed, and disposed of her preferred reading of today. It had become a tradition of sorts, for her and Cat to share some lighthearted dialogue in the evenings, and it resulted in them strengthening their unlikely friendship bond. In her earlier days, it wouldn't have even occurred to Lyanna to attempt making friends with a _proper_ girl of any sort. But as she was learning, life had been strange.

 „I had been looking for you all day today, Lyanna“ Catelyn says. „But, as Ned just told me, it seemed you had struck up a different companionship for today.“

 That she did. A warm blush rose to Lyanna's cheeks at the thought; she was not sure if Catelyn could see it, but it was one she could certainly feel. Foolish, once again she had been a _foolish_ girl. Neither there nor here, she should have just made up her mind, and went with it. Now she'd only further strained her already estranged friendship with Dom, as well as learned she _did not_ in fact have Brandon's talent for this stuff. It wasn't that she was craven, nay it was not that at all. It had simply felt wrong, and not out of fear of what others may think - this had perhaps been the most frustrating thing of all. Why did she have to love him still? Why?

„Lyanna?“ Her goodsister inquired beside her. „Is all well?“

„He'd moved to kiss me, and I just couldn't do it,“ Lyanna mumbles. „It is a curse of sorts, I just couldn't.“

„Lyanna?“

„Domeric,“ Lyanna says. „He'd tried to kiss me today.“

Catelyn's hand moved to her mouth. „Gods be good. You did tell him straight for his behavior didn't you? To attempt to kiss a married woman, the queen no the less...it is...it is treason.“

Lyanna let out a short mirthless laugh. „Fret not, no bastards will come of it; I couldn't even give Rhaegar trueborn children, let alone slip him someone else's bastards. Besides, nothing truly happened, he did not even kiss me properly. I tried to let him, but I simply couldn't.“

„You were going to let him? Lyanna,“ Cat's words had an edge of reprimand to them.

„I merely wanted to see if I could. If I could get the image of Rhaegar out of my mind for long enough to - the point is, I couldn't. Even if I'm certain _he_ has little issue receiving kisses from Cersei Lannister as we speak.“

„Oh, I knew it,“ Catelyn says suddenly, as if something had been amusing to her, and to her alone.

Lyanna's brows furrowed. „Knew what?“

„The king,“ Catelyn says, grabbing Lyanna's hands and holding them in her own. „All of this is for him. You love him still. And he loves you too as well, just you wait and see. You two shall be back together before you know it.“

„Cat-“ Before Lyanna could get her words in, an entrance through the doors claimed their attention. Both women turned their heads.

„Your Grace. Prince Jon has fallen ill.“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me for the Lyanna/Dom shipping in this, I swear it had a purpose. Btw, this chapter has a second part as well, and you may like that one better *cough*may not want to kill me after reading it*cough*. I do always like to hear any thoughts you may have in the meantime :)


	17. In Utero I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry for dropping off the grid for so long, I had some health issues recently, and so had difficulties working on any of my fics. I'll try to hurry up with the next one, I swear!
> 
> This is a Lyanna/Rhaegar/Catelyn chapter; I know, it's a lot of POVs for one chapter, I could have probably cut Lyanna out, but I wanted to give you an insight into her own mind too. In any case, I hope you enjoy reading, and don't forget to let me know of any thoughts you may have : D

 

For days, Lyanna had sat by Jon's bedside, hoping for blessings, and fearing the curse.

Her hand had moved between holding his own tiny one, and smoothing his soft locks back from his forehead, but the prayer in her mind was all the same. Her little son would get well. He had to get well.

The maester's words had not helped this either; the man had spoken to her with an irritating, forced caution such that Lyanna had wished to fling something at his head and make him go away. He'd claimed the fever had been persistent, much too persistent than what a child might withstand for long, and that she should have every option in mind. Lyanna refused to entertain anything but one.

She had just dozed off, leaning her forehead against Jon's bed, when she felt a light touch against the crown of her head.

„Jon,“ Lyanna thrills immediately, a hand already rushing to feel at his heated forehead. The fever had, thankfully, somewhat dissipated. His grey eyes had been wide open now, resting on hers, but his complexion pale, and his lips still as red as blood. A harsh cough then escaped his little lungs.

 „How are you feeling, pup? Does your throat feel sore? Mama will get you some water...“ just as Lyanna got to her feet, Jon's weak, little voice had intercepted her.

„Papa,“ He had cried. „I want papa.“

„Your father is not here, sweetling,“ Lyanna gently attempted to explain, lowering her weight at the edge of his bed. „You and I are at Winterfell, visiting with your aunt Cat and uncle Ned, do you recall?“

Jon gave a solemn nod.

„But look Jon, look who is here,“ Lyanna begins then, in an attempt to uplift his spirits; she'd reached to pick up the little wolf-beast that had all the while been slumbering at Jon's feet. „Look, your little pup has been waiting to greet you.“

Jon profoundly frowns. „I do not want Ghost! I only want papa, where is papa?“ Her usually most calm and solemn son began to fidget then, weeping as profoundly and inconsolably as he did when he was a babe, except neither milk nor holding him in arms would now calm him.   _He wished for his father..._

„Please, do not weep, sweetling,“ Lyanna begged, fearing if he didn't stop, raw and exhausted as she was she might as well join him herself.. „I shall call for your father, and he will come. If you wish to see him, I shall call for him.“

At this, Jon had immediately quieted down, and offered a little nod.

„Sleep now, my sweetest, sleep.“ Lyanna urged him, knowing he needed his rest. And indeed, it did not take long for Jon's little breaths to become even, and for his heavy eyelids to drift down. Lyanna kissed his forehead; the greatest gift she could give her son right now was his father.

 

* * *

 

Having read its contents, Rhaegar folds over the letter that had just reached him, and drops the arm holding it to his side.  

„Your Grace?“ Jon inquired beside himself, clearly not oblivious to the grimace forming on Rhaegar's face.

„It is Lyanna,“ Rhaegar finally explains. „She writes that my son has fallen ill.“

„I wish him a speedy recovery, Your Grace,“ Jon immediately returns. „Hopefully, it is nothing grave.“

„It appears grave enough that she has written me,“ Rhaegar observes. „Either way, I cannot merely stay here awaiting news, I will not be at peace until I see him. Arrange for all the needed travel preparations, Jon. You will be staying here in my stead, and Arthur will be accompanying me to Winterfell.“

„But, Your Grace,“ Jon immediately protests. „It is simply impossible to excuse your absence at the minute, it would require your wedding to Cersei Lannister to be further delayed. What would everyone, including Tywin Lannister say-“

„I do not care about Tywin Lannister,“ Rhaegar hisses determinedly. „No one comes first in priority over my son, not even him. He will have to stay patient, and wait for my return.“

„But, Your Grace-„ Jon attempted to further insist.

„This is my final word, Jon. Begin with the travel preparations, I wish to leave as soon as possible. There will be no time to be wasted.“

 

* * *

 

„You wished to see me, my love?“ Catelyn's voice called, standing at the doors of what used to be Lord Rickard's and was now Ned's solar.

„Indeed, I did,“ Her husband confirms; the paper with the broken royal seal in his hand promising news. „The king has written back, and not to Lyanna, but to me as it appears.“

The information caused Catelyn some thinking; in all likelihood, the king had still been resentful of Lyanna's actions. She hoped still such a thing may be breached in their common worry of their son.

„And what does the letter say?“

Ned sighs. „The king is on his way; in effort to make short of the time, he will be breaching most of the journey by sea. This raven appears delayed; he may be here within the next few days.“

Cat nodded. „And have you spoken to the maester, Ned? What is the prince's condition?“

„It is not too good, Cat,“ Ned voices, now substituting his place behind the table for standing in front of her. Cat nervously wrung her hands before her.

„What does that mean, Ned? Does the maester believe...is, is the little prince going to die?“

Ned's mouth tightened. „The maester claims much is possible, but it is out of our hands. His fever had been going strong for long, but if he survives tonight, he has a good chance of recovering. In truth, it is Lyanna that worries me, “ he confesses. „She refuses to leave his side; if it goes on thus, she will have fallen ill as well. She's neither eaten or slept properly for an entire fortnight. If her son perishes, she will not be in a good place, Cat.“

Cat would be lying if she claimed she hadn't briefly contemplated Lyanna's position if she were to lose her only son. It had been a grim and unsettling thing to consider; such a thing had been every mother's worst fear, except in Lyanna's case, she wouldn't have other children of her own to console herself with. Additionally, such a thing would further weaken her already precarious position at court.

 At the time, Catelyn had envied her for her bravery, yet could not help but wonder if the gods were taking away things they'd once given her at the expense of another, queenship , or the position of being mother to the crown prince. Lyanna had been one of a kind, and gods either saw it fit to punish those, or rewarded them immensely. Regardless, Cat desired such a fate far away from her; while perfect in neither thought nor action, Lyanna owned a pure heart, and Cat had developed a most unlikely attachment to her. Sometimes she wondered why, and the answer reached both guilted her and surprised her.

„Fear not for your sister, Ned,“ Cat had said, closing her smaller hand over his. „May the Gods save the little prince, and I shall take care of the rest.“

 

* * *

 

Soon after her conversation with Ned, Catelyn found herself before the doors to the prince's chambers. She'd moved to knock, but found the wooden doors opening ajar, revealing a child's sickbed, along with his worried mother watching over him. The queen had seemed – well crestfallen was the only expression that came to mind, and she didn't even react to the sound she surely heard.

To Cat's knowledge, the queen hadn't left the prince's side even once for two days now, and she looked like she hadn't slept for just as long. The hearth that usually warmed the stone chamber had appeared extinguished for some time now, much imitating her own spirits. The queen shivered.

„Your Grace,“ Catelyn finally allows herself, stepping forward. She reached for the woolen shawl folded atop a chair, and placed it over the queen's shoulders.

„If you're here to tell me to sleep, know your future efforts to be fruitless - Ned had already tried.“

„I wouldn't presume to tell you a thing, Your Grace,“ Catelyn began, „I am merely here because I may have something that could help.“

„Your maesters have already tried everything,“ Lyanna says in a flat voice, her grey eyes trapped by the sight of her son.“They say there's nothing to do but wait to see if he survives the night.“

„Help you, not him Your Grace ,“ Catelyn clarifies. „It had simply occurred to me; it was something I did whenever Robb was ill. During those days, I spent my time creating a prayer wheel – I am not sure if you are familiar, it is related to the Seven – but it helped me get through the sleepless nights until he got better. Would you perhaps like to try?“

„I wanted to go to the Godswood to pray,“ Lyanna says, responding to Catelyn's own words, yet somehow not. „But I am afraid to leave him alone.“

 „The Gods Old and New watch over him regardless, I'm sure,“ Cat returned, not certain what more there was to say. „And, with the Mother's mercy, surely all will be well.“

„Mercy?“ Lyanna suddenly scoffs. „ The Gods have no mercy – some Gods they are, both Old and New. We pray and pray, put our lives into their hands, and they kill children and adults alike. Women die in childbirth, men die on the battlefields, and unborn babes die in their mother's wombs. What sort of mercy is there to speak of?“

 „The Gods do have mercy, Your Grace. You must believe it...otherwise, what is there to live for, if the cruelty of the Gods will take it all away. You have a husband, a son, brothers that love you - do you truly believe it all to be pointless? “ As soon as these words escaped her mouth, Catelyn realized just how inappropriate they had been. Lyanna's own attitude corroborated this as well; the queen sniffles and then blinks down unpleasantly, her eyes before herself . „I...forgive me, Your Grace,“ Catelyn stutters.“ I apologize, I shall let you have your solitude.“

Giving her one last fleeting glance, Cat indeed move to leave, but it were Lyanna's own words that stopped her at the doors.

„I want you to show me how to do it.“ Lyanna's red-rimmed eyes rose from the sight of her son, and up to Catelyn's own. „Could you teach me how?“

Catelyn offered the queen a tight smile; not offering a verbal response besides, she came closer, and sat on the edge of the prince's bed, opposite to the queen.

„You take this wheel,“ she'd explained, „and you knit the thread around the barrels, one by one. I found that if nothing else, it gives you something to do with your time.“

 The queen's fingers were hardly practiced -- she did not seem as one for delicate handwork, and Catelyn had noted the few pale scars on her palms, surely from holding a horse's reins. Yet she persevered, and surviving her first and second failed attempt, tangling the thread either into the wheel, or around her fingers, finally understood the hang of it.

Seeing her cheeks reddened with a new fire, and her grey eyes flitting over the wheel, concentrating, Catelyn left her to her own devices, with a distinct feeling in her heart the prince was going to live.

 


	18. In Utero II

 

Rhaegar's arrival had been welcomed by the entire household of Winterfell, and one Lyanna Stark.

Having dismounted, and passed the reins to a waiting stableboy, Rhaegar did not take much time before exchanging short greetings with his hosts: he'd shook the hand of the stern Eddard Stark, kissed the hand of his sweet wife Catelyn, and gently greeted each of their two young children.

It was then that he allowed himself to look at her: though her head had been bowed just to the minimal as for one to say she did it, the rest of her did not relay submission in the slightest. She'd appeared to have lost weight; it displeased him to find her quite so pale, and with dark circles under her eyes.

„Lady wife,“ Rhaegar finally addressed her, in manner he deemed most suitable for the occasion.

Her jaw shifted at first, in a way that suggested she wished to rip his throat out for addressing her as such, but then she manages through gritted teeth. „Lord husband.“

„Lord Stark,“ Rhaegar called to the man beside, still not taking his eyes off Lyanna. „I would like to see my son.“

„Of course, Your Grace,“ Ned bows dutifully. And with that the two men abandoned the courtyard, and entered the castle itself.

 

* * *

 

„I cannot believe this had happened,“ Rhaegar stated to himself more than her, dispelling the tension in his body by walking back and forth. The sight of his son severely ill in that bed had a most unsettling effect on him, striking fear and frustration into his heart. His child's mother had been right there, stubbornly focusing on the floor as he passed her back and forth. He wondered briefly if his presence had something with it.

„Children get ill, Rhaegar,“ she responded, intently scrutinizing the floor yet still. „No one could have anticipated it.“

Still pacing back and forth, Rhaegar clenched down on his fists. „If only had he stayed in King's Landing, this would not have happened. I was a fool to allow it. This wilderness is no place for a child.“

„This wilderness as you call it is my home, Rhaegar,“ she returned, visibly irritated.“I grew up here and I turned out just fine, so do not blame any of it on him being here. Besides,“ she'd added in a lower voice, „Your court's intrigues would have hurt him far sooner than any measure of Northern air would. I will never regret taking him out of that pit of vipers.“

Stopping with annoyance, Rhaegar merely let his jaw shift; it was just like her, evading and deflecting guilt onto somewhere else. „Our son is a prince, Lyanna, and as such he has his rightful place at court. Just for you failed to adapt well to it, it does not imply that our son-“

Lyanna only snorts lightly, yet he could sense the residual bitterness behind it. Her eyes had at last peeled from the floor and met his own, cold steel in them preceding the storm. „Aye, I did not adapt at court. Have you ever entertained why? Because it was you who had insisted this did not matter to you. That being wife to you and mother to Jon was all you desired of me. You swore to me that you loved me for who I was.“ Keeping her fists clenched, she blinked down. „It pains me to know that for all this time you had indeed resented me.“

„Every word of that was true, and still is,“ Rhaegar firmly insists, quite aware this was turning into an entirely different argument, yet allowing it to happen. She'd said plenty just before her departure, he'd said nearly none. „Do not bother claiming otherwise, Lyanna; must I remind you it was you for whom this all hadn't been sufficient, not I -“

„And yet it was you who had let me go so easily, and took no time before making it clear to everyone Cersei Lannister would be your new wife.“ Lyanna had retorted to him fiercely, attempting to keep her voice calm. „It was you who had never even told me about Robert Baratheon's plans, and intended to leave me in the dark.“ Lyanna blinked down. „ You never told me a thing of it, you never told me anything at all. You merely trapped me in a cage of insecurity and ignorance, and now you blame me for it all.“

Rhaegar stopped and gritted his teeth at this, surely wondering how it came that she knew of Robert's demands in the first place. „I did not tell you, it is true,“ he finally concedes.“ But it had not been out of malice nor out of desire to misguide you. I merely did what I always did, I aimed to protect you.“

 „If you wished to protect me, you should have spent less time protecting me from myself, and more time protecting me of others. How many times have they smiled to my face, and made deriding marks behind my back? On how many occasions would you have left to work, and have me remain all alone, with barely a servant to spare me a kind word?“ She lowered her head for her voice had begun trembling. „Perhaps the hardest thing of it to bear was your disappointment. I left for I could not bear it any longer, not your court and not your silence.“ 

Even if there had been truth to it all, what Lyanna didn't tell her husband was that she'd loved him so, and thus could not bring herself to truly resent him for these things. But Lyanna's heart was aching, and and more and more, she'd resembled an empty vessel unable to contain.

„You are deflecting, Lyanna. “ he tells her in a tone much like one in which he would speak to a child. It immediately had the effect of incensing her further.“ The gods are my witnesses, I had extended so much love and affection to you, I would've preferred someone stab me with a dagger rather than to see a single of your tears. The fact that you had chosen to flee was your and your responsibility alone.“ He sighed. „There had only been one mistake that I'd made, and it had been allowing my son to leave without sufficient protection. If I hadn't, perhaps he wouldn't now be laying in a sickbed.“

 „So this is my fault?“ Lyanna croaks in a suddenly weak voice. „I didn't take care of him sufficient?“

 „Lyanna-“

„No,“ she says, unable to gloss over the perceived insult. „You believe this is my fault.“

The shock seemed to be subsiding, ultimately making its way into anger, and enraged, Lyanna firmly pushed against his chest. „You bastard, how can you say it's my fault?  No one loves him as much as I do. No one would care for him as much as I would. You can have Cersei Lannister birth you other children, but what about me?“

Since her relentless assaults would not cease, and she kept hitting him, Rhaegar finally pulled her into an embrace, effectively caging her and halting her movements. Somewhere in the midst of all, she'd begun weeping; even as he held her tight, she still kicked and screamed and swore. 

„Hush Lyanna, hush,“ Rhaegar moved his hand, as he threaded his fingers through her hair. „I am here. I'm here. I'm sorry. Hush, all is well, come now.“

Gradually as he held her, with the exhaustion of it, she did finally begin to soothe. He still kept a hand mildly maintaining contact with her back, as the last of smallest whimpers escaped her and dwindled into the air.

„Will he be well, do you think?“ he heard her ask, muffled in the space between her and his chest, and weak enough that it almost broke his heart. „I cannot take it anymore, the maesters tell me nothing, and I,“ Her lifeless eyes rose to meet his own. „ I don't want him to die.“

„Hush Lyanna, he isn't going to die.“ Rhaegar convinced; with little conscious bidding, his hand came to rest in her soft locks as her forehead pressed against his chest again. „I will not allow it. I've brought a small army of maesters with me, some of them with knowledge of healing from Essos and Asshai, and if they fail I will behead them all.“Pycelle offered his expertise as well, yet Rhaegar declined, not wishing to deal with the man's bumbling incompetence now out of all times.

„You promise?“ A barely heard, muffled sound came.

„I do,“ Rhaegar assures again.

It is a knock on the doors that separates them, causing Lyanna to pull back away from him, and messily wipe away at her tears with a hand. He felt her missing from his chest as she did, and he cursed himself for it.

„What is it?“ she asked.

The servant girl merely offered a tight smile to Lyanna, before shifting her attention to Rhaegar.

„Your Grace. Ser Arthur Dayne had asked me to let you know he wishes to speak to you. 'Tis something urgent, he claims.“

 _Arthur?_ What could it possibly be? A part of Rhaegar felt irritated at the notion of having to entertain anything but Jon at the minute, yet Arthur was not one for exaggeration – what was in his assessment urgent, was likely to be considered the same by Rhaegar. And, perhaps it was wise to abandon the current situation with Lyanna; both of them had been running quite high on emotion, and Rhaegar neither wanted to do or say something he may regret.

He politely excused himself, not certain if Lyanna's eyes escorted him with longing, or it were merely an unfounded impression in his head.

 

* * *

 

On the servant girl's instructions, Rhaegar made his way out of the gloomy castle that was Winterfell, and set on the path toward its Godswood; Arthur had allegedly been expecting him there. The Godswood of Winterfell had been large, quite larger than any other he'd seen, chiefly the one belonging to the Red Keep or the one at the Isle of Faces where he and Lyanna had originally exchanged their vows. But it was only fitting, he supposed, this was the home of the Starks and the Old Gods would be honored nowhere better than here.

Arthur had been sitting and polishing Dawn under the very large heart tree.

„Arthur,“ Rhaegar called, at which his lifelong friend quickly lifted his eyes from his ancestral sword, and met his own.

„Your Grace,“ Arthur began in a rather alarmed tone, having risen to his feet. A piece of parchment paper had been curled in the hold of one of this fists.„There had been news from the capital. Tywin Lannister, he had left his post as the Master of Coin without notice and taken his daughter with him. And,“

„And?“ Rhaegar prompted cautiously, largely alarmed by the other man's demeanor. Arthur had been the one to defeat the Smiling Knight, a mere letter warranting such a look on his face had been disconcerting of itself. In fact, it briefly reminded Rhaegar of receiving the news of Elia and his son dead, but he quickly pushed this thought out of his mind. Arthur could not inflict such a grief on him.

„By all signs, Jon writes, he had changed his mind and plans to ally with Robert Baratheon. In your absence, your Lord Hand had noted this as an act of treason; with Tywin Lannister out of reach, he chose to imprison Ser Jaime instead.“

„He did what?“ An intense line appeared on Rhaegar's forehead as he grabbed the letter to see for himself. If Tywin Lannister did not intend to rebel up until this minute, he surely would now. Jon had always been a hot-headed man, something Rhaegar considered him a fine advisor for, but the downside of it was that this made Jon less than fit to rule in his own right. Or perhaps Jon had been right. Tywin Lannister's departure and abrupt return to the Westerlands could only mean one thing. He was preparing an army.

„There will be war, Your Grace,“ Arthur had concluded, keeping his purple eyes intensely on Rhaegar's own. „But Jon also advises you to remain at Winterfell for now; your whereabouts are known to all, and if you were to embark on a journey under the circumstances, that could endanger your life. There is no doubt we would fall into a trap.“

Rhaegar nodded; it had been reasonable, and even more, he would hardly bear to part from his son without knowing him healthy. „No matter what, Lyanna and Jon must be protected,“ he noted. „They will remain here with Oswell's protection until this situation is resolved. And, if anything happens to me, but the rebels are defeated, Jon must securely ascend the throne. Lyanna will be regent until he comes of age, but she won't wish to rule. Whoever of ours is left, will need to counsel and guide her through it all.“

„Nothing shall happen to you, Your Grace,“ Arthur says solemnly. „I swear it on my life.“

„Still,“ Rhaegar assured. „This isn't like the Ironborn rebelling. Neither Tywin Lannister nor Robert Baratheon are to be underestimated. I may live or I may die, but Lyanna and Jon are to be safe, even if this means exile. You will set up a network that Oswell will be able to come into contact with in case this need arises. Are we understood?“

„Yes, Your Grace, it is understood.“ Arthur says.

„Good.“ Lyanna had resented him for keeping her in the dark, but this was precisely why. _Very well, then. I will let it be known. I will tell you I will go to war for you._

True to his intention, Rhaegar sought her out; he'd found her in the likely place, remaining by Jon's bedside. However, she had not been conscious; she'd been sleeping with her hand touching Jon's little one, and her neck in a most uncomfortable position. Judging by it, the exhaustion of the days past had taken its toll, it had been no proper place for one to lay down.

Rhaegar picked her up in his arms, cautious of supporting her head; there had to have been a bed in which he could let her have her rest. Just upon him finding one, her eyelids fluttered open, her consciousness stirred by the new surface against her back.

„Sleep,“ Rhaegar commanded; he'd tried to move away, yet her arms remained locked around his neck. She'd shown no sign of following his advice, instead she kept staring at him with grey eyes, as if there was something she could find thus, and nowhere else. After a prolonged minute, she'd finally released him; Rhaegar moved to lift himself away.

„No,“ she protested huskily. „I want you to stay.“

„Lyanna-“

„Please Rhaegar,“ she murmurs. „Just for a little while.“ She seemed to have taken his reluctance as yes, as she butted her little nose against his face. Her lips were as red and inviting as he remembered them in his dreams.

„You don't want to.“ He said, in a voice coarse with desire, too.

„I do want to,“ Lyanna murmured. „Please Rhaegar.“

During the years Lyanna and he shared the same bed, their coupling had always been...passionate. This was different. There was no hurry -- it felt like a meeting between two old friends, rejoining of two lonely souls. It was comfort. It felt noble somehow, justified, like a thing even Rhaegar's chaste gods would approve of.

It felt different, yet still quite the same as Rhaegar's hips worked slowly, but consistently between her thighs, holding her in a permanent haze of pleasure. He kissed her wherever he could, he kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck, and Lyanna held him close, as close as she could, dragging her fingers down his naked back, and through his hair. It lasted forever, and neither wanted it to end. Once he did conclude, Lyanna locked her legs around his waist, keeping him inside of her. All through it he didn't say a word; he usually would, he would pause his kissing to murmur something loving to the valley between her nose and mouth, or against her ear. _Tell me you love me_. _Tell me please._

He never did; his eyes bored into hers inquisitively instead, and Lyanna let go. She turned to her side, and curled into herself, her eyes only closing shut as she anticipated him to leave. Yet he didn't, he lingered some more instead, and although he'd been silent still, his fingers began threading lazily through her hair. Lyanna turned back around.

A knock on the doors startled them, only allowing Lyanna to frantically grab at some furs. The servant girl had entered with a neutral face, which nearly immediately began turning tomato red. Still, she'd voiced what she'd come for. „Your Grace. The maesters had asked me to let you know. Prince Jon's condition had greatly improved.“

 


	19. Sappy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the long-awaited update! I apologize for not getting this up any earlier; I had to take a break from writing earlier this year, and then it took me some time again to find my groove. In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

 

„What is the meaning of this?“ he asked her as Lyanna worked on her girdle; her mind itself wondered on it, yet found no clear answer. It was unlike him to ask her things, to ask anyone, Rhaegar had been a vault of answers. One thing she knew was, this factually changed little. Her heart ached, and she reached for a known cure.

„I do not know,“ she said; she turned around and pulled to fix his crooked collar. Their son had just returned from certain clutches of death, the least they could do was attempt to look presentable. „We'll think on it later. Right now, we must see Jon.“

„Lyanna,“ he called for her; she turned around, standing in the door. „Our son is alive.“

Joy sprang inside of her, and for the first time in moons, Lyanna genuinely smiled. „He is alive.“

It was difficult to say, whether they walked or ran, but Lyanna went ahead of Rhaegar and quickly reached Jon's bedside. Her sweet son had been awake, even if drowsy with heavy grey eyes; the fever she feared was nearly dissipated now. „Sweetest, dearest pup,“ Lyanna cooed to him, immensely more relieved now that she'd seen him with her own eyes. „Tell your mama, are you feeling all right now?“

„Papa!“ he cried instead, noting the presence of his father; Lyanna couldn't even be offended by it. She crawled onto the bed and ran her head through Jon's dark locks, kissing his brow and cheek. The little wolf-beast lingering found it fit to climb up on the bed as well; this gave Jon a chance to acquaint his pet with his father.

„This is Ghost, papa. We found him in the forest nearby; mama said I could keep him.“

„I'd say your mother made a most wonderful choice then.“

Jon giggles, and Rhaegar ruffles his curls before he moves over, comes to rest on the bed like Lyanna did, just on the other side. They remain as thus, cuddle amongst themselves and their only son, until Lyanna feels a familiar tiredness pulling her under. For the tiniest instant, things are the way they were when Lyanna wanted for nothing, the way they are wont to be, and Lyanna falls asleep with one hand in Jon's curls and another clinging to Rhaegar's collar. When she wakes up, blinking against the breaking morn, she realizes that despite her tries at keeping him there, he was gone.

Lyanna rubs her eyes, and extends a hand to smooth the locks of her still slumbering babe; _where did your father go?_ Lyanna thought to get them breakfast, order all of Jon's favorite meals in attempt to build up his appetite, but her babe seemed fit for sleeping for good few more hours now. Lyanna would let him sleep, and seek out Rhaegar herself.

It seemed only natural, to crave to touch him after last night; Lyanna cursed her stupid nature. Perhaps she shouldn't have written him after all, shouldn't have brought him to where she escaped him and all the hell that came with him. But there was no turning now; Lyanna couldn't have not informed him their son was ill, couldn't have beared not giving him a chance to see him, especially when Jon asked for him as well. Rhaegar was here now, yet not likely for long; she wondered if that's a blessing or a disappointment.

Spending good twenty minutes, roaming Winterfell's hallways, Lyanna at last found the husband that left her; with her brother, he appeared to be discussing a grave political matter. She could tell this by the expression on their faces; Ned's long face seemed even more solemn than usual, and Rhaegar's forehead bore that frown it always did when something tormented him. Lyanna nearly went by, preferring breakfast to dreary politics as early in the morn, yet her husband and brother noticed her, and beckoned her in.

 

* * *

 

 „You imprisoned Ser Jaime? What did you imprison Ser Jaime for?“ Out of all the unsettling news laid on her, this one Lyanna found one of more perturbing. Rhaegar finished his rehearsed political ramble; he had been speaking of Tywin Lannister, Robert Baratheon, all known and perilous threats (though Lyanna would toss in Cersei Lannister for good measure), but Ser Jaime? What had Ser Jaime ever done to earn Rhaegar's wrath?

„The man is a Lannister, Lya,“ Ned, quick in support of his king, says. Lyanna gazed over to Rhaegar, finding him utterly calm in this, almost impassive. Didn't he always speak of how much he trusted him, and how much he valued his service?

„Ser Jaime is a good man,“ Lyanna hears herself insisting. „He guarded me responsibly, and he shed his Lannistership. To lock him for his father's sins speaks to great misunderstanding of his character.“ Lyanna defended her guard before her husband, before her brother; perhaps excessively yet she could not help it.

In lots of ways, Ser Jaime had been more than a shadow, a watchful figure, he'd been her protector, her savior. In many a critical situation Lyanna would otherwise experience herself (Jon's birth, the loss of her other babe), he was there. Lyanna noted her brother giving her a strange look for defending a Lannister. No matter, she doubted they could understand him like she did.

„This is not a matter of making a judgement on his character,“ Rhaegar returns.“If it was, he never would have come close to guarding you. If you wish to understand it in raw terms, he's a hostage more than a prisoner.“

Lyanna grimaced, she thought it more than cruel. Loss of freedom did not sit well with her as punishment, particularly when the person at hand was innocent. Then, something else had occured to her. Prior to her arrival here, she was greatly surprised at Oswell being the Ser assigned to accompany her and not Ser Jaime. Rhaegar planned this from the very beginning.

„You knew it, didn't you?“ Lyanna tried to confront her husband, yet the voice that came out was meek. „Before I left, before you left, you knew Tywin Lannister was going to rebel. That is why you kept Ser Jaime behind. You kept him as a trading chip.“

He neither confirms not denies it. Yet, Lyanna knew it to be true, she knew the way Rhaegar's mind worked. While other men merely planned their next move, he always saw thousands of steps into the future.  „But you let me go,“ it occurs to her at last. „You sent me away. You didn't know I'd ask, but once I did, it worked well with your plans.“ Lyanna had half a mind to be cross with him for manipulating her as shamelessly as he did, but she'd done the same thing. The irony. She left him to protect him, and he let her to protect her.

„It needed to be done. I needed to know you and Jon would be protected.“

„Jon. Ha!“ Lyanna let out a mirthless laugh. „So you did that dance with me about him for naught? You were going to send him with me anyway.“She couldn't fathom it, the gall he had. Playing Southron politics with Southroners was a sport, playing it with her was like battling a stick with a sword. Rhaegar said nothing; as always, he kept the finer workings of his mind for himself.

„This is precisely why I'm cross with you, “ she says in a mumble, blinking down. „You treat me like a child. Even worse than that, a slow child. You respected me more when we met, and I was merely four-and-ten then. I am surprised you don't tell our four year old son more than you tell me.“ Lyanna noted Ned's solemn face in the corner of her eye; she could tell he did not savor being caught in a royal quarrel as he was. Yet, Lyanna couldn't help but air out her grievances, all of it had been so frustrating for her. She feared this war for moons now, feared him losing to Robert Baratheon. And now he finds it fit to tell her everything.

„I do hope you forgive us, Lord Stark,“ Rhaegar said then, noting his goodbrother just as she did. „Your sister appears to have woken up this morning just a tad high-strung.“He kept his gaze on her, briefly smiling yet he pursed his lips. Lyanna knew that look well, it was one he gave her when he both loved and hated her.

Lyanna shut her eyes and let out an exhale; from inside, she felt the sensation of anger being quelled and one of hurt taking its place. „Why?“ at last she asks, weak and wavering, but it was all she could do. „How difficult would it have been to tell me the truth? You swore to me when Jon was born you would keep no secrets from me.  I hate it Rhaegar, when you treat me this way. I hate it.“

„It needed to be done,“ he insists again. „I would gladly have you cross with me if it meant that you are safe.“He closes his eyes then, and offers a sigh. „It is of no matter now. What is done is done. Now we must move forward; yours and Jon's safety is paramount. Today, Lord Stark and I shall visit some of the larger Northern houses, and what I need of you is to stay out of danger. Remain in the castle, entertain Jon; until further notice, do not do move.“

„That is preposterous,“ Lyanna sputters. „You but said you sent me North to keep me safe, now you don't trust that I am safe in the North? What am I meant to do locked in a castle the entire day long? Ned, you tell him. Tell the Southron fool why North of the Neck, no harm will ever befall a Stark.“Ned came not to her help, she only saw his face turn beet red, likely for she called the king a fool in his presence.

„I will not have it,“ Lyanna concludes fiercely, clenching her fists together. „I will not sit locked up like a pup in a kennel.“

„And yet you will. You have to,“ Rhaegar insists, in a steely, detached voice at that. „Unless you plan to slay Ser Oswell on your way out too.“ 

„Then perhaps I shall do just that.“ Lyanna spitefully returned. Nay, she would not have him order her around like a child. „Is that all then, my lord?“ She asked, trying to keep her voice detached as she did.

His purple eyes scrutinize her, yet he relents at last. „It is.“

„Very well, then. Then I am going to take my leave.“ Lyanna hissed at him, pulling back the arm he had in his grasp still.  Rhaegar sighed, and ran a hand through his silvery hair; Lyanna noted it from the doorway before she childishly stormed away.

 

* * *

 

 „I hate it,“ Lyanna mumbled morosely. „I hate he wants me to sit here and rot away. He wants me in a box, to know he hasn't misplaced me; it is easy for him to say.“Huffing and grunting for the past hour, Lyanna was lamenting to her goodsister, who had not been the most sympathetic ear given the situation. To Cat, guarding one's pups and resting near one's hearth had been normal, she couldn't grasp how much Lyanna hated being locked away.

Now thinking on it, simmering in her misery, it brought back the less fond memories of her father. What had compelled her to run South, when even North she hadn't much freedom. Had Lyanna been clever, she would have scaled the Wall.

Cat smiled at her, in rather warm fashion, but there was amusement to it as well. „Gods be good Lyanna, he loves you. Of course he cares for you. Would you rather he didn't? This is first I've heard a woman complain her husband cares for her too much.“

Lyanna huffed, shaking her curly head. „He doesn't merely care. He is overbearing. He treats me like I'm an invalid. Or a child. What is not infuriating about it, prey tell?“

„He is protective of you.“Her goodsister assures, taking her hand. „It is romantic. I must tell you, Ned is not much different. I find it heart-warming.“

„Romantic... “ Lyanna attempted the word, trying it for consideration. She had a few ideas about romance. „Telling the truth is romantic. Trusting your spouse is romantic. Telling the person you love that you love them is romantic.“ The sort of romance that escaped Rhaegar these days, it seemed.

„I can think of another thing that is romantic,“Cat said pointedly. Lyanna squinted, watching to her goodsister who knowingly tilted her head; her meaning soon made itself apparent to Lyanna. „I am going to kill that servant girl. I knew I should have paid her to keep her mouth shut. She told the entire castle, didn't she?“

Cat chuckled warmly. „Lyanna, it is no embarrassment. You are husband and wife.“

„Estranged husband and wife,“ Lyanna corrects. „Or at least we were. I don't know what we are now. I don't know,“ she trailed off breathily, her shoulders slumping. Lyanna hadn't the time to reflect on it. She wasn't even certain there was much to reflect on. Lyanna loved him. Lyanna missed him. Having him inside her was a pleasure she thought she denied herself for the rest of her days. Yet things happened, and now he had been here. „He is my tragic flaw,“ Lyanna hears herself mumbling.

„Your what now, Lyanna?“ Her goodsister beside her asked.

„My tragic flaw. You know, in the romance novels. Every character has a tragic flaw. Something integrated in them, a part they cannot shed that brings about their downfall. They aren't themselves without it, but they cannot live with it. That is what Rhaegar is to me. A weakness I'd be better off if I didn't have.“

Try as she might, Lyanna could not shed her weakness, not then and not now. She could still remember herself moons after Harrenhal, being unable to sleep, for every time she closed her eyes she could only think of his indigo ones and his silvery hair. If only things had been different now.

„You must be speaking nonsense now, Lyanna, he is your husband. What would you have done without him...“

„I don't know. Anything. Everything. That is the charm of it. Did you know I had planned to run away, mask myself as a boy, and join the Night's Watch? Like Danny Flint. I was so confident I could pull it off; I always was slender and boyish, even more than I am now. All I needed to do was cut off my hair. But I didn't know the tale of Danny Flint then, and once I heard it, it wavered my confidence. I suspect Old Nan told me of it specifically to deter me from whichever path I set on.“

„But didn't you wish to have other things as well?“Catelyn asks. „Didn't you wish for a kind husband, or children...how would you have had children if you joined the Night's Watch?“

„No, none of that, I never even thought about it.“ Lyanna confesses. „There was one thing I always wanted from life, freedom. Then I met him, and I wanted him too. But I could have either one or the other, and freedom was outside of reach anyway. He wanted me too, but he didn't have to lose everything else in order to have me. Though I suppose that is less true now.“He had known it, he had known it all along. He had known she was more trouble politically than she was worth. 

„But you gained so much as well,“ Her goodsister kindly notes. „If you hadn't gone with him, you never would have known love. You never would have had Jon. I have seen how much you love him, how much you fret for him.“

„Exactly,“ Lyanna says. „The more people you love, the more you feel pain. You stop being grateful that they're there, and start feeling fearful that you are losing them. But the worst thing about love is, even when it is bad for you, it feels good.“

„I maintain love is never a bad thing, my lady,“ Catelyn pronounces softly. Lyanna wished she could have been right.

 

* * *

 

 Lyanna opened the drawer of the table in her room, and looked around. Where could the damnable thing have been? Lyanna searched for a winter-rose shaped brooch, in her possession yet hardly used; something Catelyn told her sparked the memory of it and inspired Lyanna to gift it to her goodsister. Catelyn fostered issues of belonging, feeling quite an outcast in a strange part of the world; knowing how it felt, Lyanna hoped to ease some of it for her.

After much deliberation, Lyanna decided the two of them were not so different after all. Their distinctions seemed polarizing, but in the end leading to the same place; Catelyn loved her husband and children; Lyanna did too. She would do anything to protect them, and Lyanna would too. They both grappled with living in a foreign land, though their expressions of it varied enormously; Lyanna had no issue screaming King's Landing was the largest, most duplicitious, most pretentious shithole in the world, while one had to get Catelyn drunk for her to confess she might not adore all of North after all. All in all, Lyanna came to like her goodsister; they didn't always grasp each other, but they communicated well.

Lyanna's fingers found something, yet it had not been the wanted brooch; she pulled the object out, surprised to see a dagger. Lyanna smiled.

Last she parted from this dagger was... gods, it was before Brandon's wedding to Catelyn that never came to pass. It was the dagger marking her rambunctious girlhood; Rickard Stark, as any responsible father trying to raise a proper daughter bought her stuff she was supposed to like, and not things she did like, but this dagger had been an exception, and thus near and dear to her heart. Lyanna howled and screamed and cried for her twelfth nameday over how her brothers all had daggers by then (even the younger Benjen) that at the end it was easier to capitulate than to listen to her ear-splitting wails.

She never would have fathomed then, that it would be years for her to claim it; Rhaegar swept her from the plains of Riverrun and the rest was history. Lyanna ran her fingers over the direwolf handle, over the still deathly sharp blade; hearing noise outside, out of old habit, she slipped the dagger back in her sleeve.

„Lyanna,“ Her goodsister sweetly adressed her, entering the room; her blue eyes were warm as she looked to her. „I was wondering if you would like to join me for supper? It will be done soon.“ Of course, only Catelyn could be joined, for their two fabled husbands still hadn't deigned to grace the castle grounds. Why did Rhaegar get to do what he liked, while she had to be locked up?

Lyanna turned her eyes to her girlhood riding boots, stuffed and forgotten in the dark corner of her room. „Do me a favor, and make certain Jon eats. I have an errand to run; I will return soon.“

Lyanna „errand“ wasn't a true errand as it so happened, but that wasn't something Catelyn had to know. The one obstacle was slipping past Oswell, yet Lyanna would manage that too. That was one thing to give to Ser Jaime; the man was shrewd, and had no illusions about the stunts Lyanna was like to pull. Were he ordered to guard her in her own home, he would get stuck to her hip, not allowing her to even bathe alone. Oswell was a good knight as well, simple to talk to, but far more lenient; him Lyanna had wrapped around her little finger.

Using the familial connection between Catelyn and Oswell, Lyanna sent an unknowing Catelyn to entertain the knight. Then she slipped out, out of the alternate entrance Oswell didn't know about. Ned's own men were given no orders to stop her, that she could see, as they merely bowed to her and addressed her as queen. Before Oswell had a chance to catch on to her disappearance, Lyanna scrambled to the stables and took her favorite mare. „Good girl,“ she told the sweet animal, giving her a sugar cube. „You want to go out for a ride too, you missed some exercise, didn't you?“The mare gave her a neigh in response.

The afternoon air was pleasant, cool and crisp to her lungs. Lyanna had nearly forgotten it, how different it felt to ride in the North instead of South, how the air and fragrances catching your nose were different, how the hoofs of one's horse sank in differently on a different kind of land. She supposed this would do, a last ride of sort before she would agree for Rhaegar to confine her in a castle. Lyanna, unlike what some may accuse her of, wasn't senslessly stubborn. She merely required her freedom, wished to be reasoned with instead of ordered around and chided. If Rhaegar thought it impossible, very well, she thought it of him as well.

How odd it had been, to have him on Winterfell's grounds. A feat nearly unreachable for a Southron king; Lyanna couldn't even dream of it (Lyanna did dream of it, back in her girlish innocence when she thought being king and queen meant having more freedom not less). Rhaegar and Winterfell, it had been this childish fantasy of hers, putting together the two things she loved most.

It had been a queer thing as well; the night when she arrived to Winterfell, Lyanna dreamed of making love to Rhaegar, no less but on her girlhood bed. It had been a pleasant dream no doubt, result of carnal cravings and the man to help it far away (Lyanna knew those dreams well, she had them on that same bed back when she was a maiden as well). The surprise came a few days later, when the dream repeated nearly the same way, however then occuring in reality itself. She wondered to what it may mean, if it meant anything at all.

It meant she loved him. Oh did she so, so very much; Lyanna couldn't help but love him. Even when they had their differences, even when he pushed her to rage (as she did him), she couldn't tell of herself if she'd rather slap him or kiss him. Perhaps most gladly of all, she'd have him steal her away; it did not even matter where, as long as they were free and safe. _Oh Rhaegar, my love. Could you please love me again? Or at least if you can't, promise that you'll be safe. Please love me, no one can love me as you do. Please._

A whistle came then, sudden and unexpected; Lyanna whipped her head back to the sound of foreign hoofbeats. She expected white armor, and a vaguely chastising face to greet her, however, she was met with an unfamiliar face. Her mare skittish, Lyanna looked around; five men on horses, maybe more were around her, and all were fast approaching. Ned's men they weren't, this she knew, she knew every Stark bannerman and his son.

A panic sprouted within her, however, there was no time for that. _Stupid, foolish girl_ , she chided in her own head; Rhaegar would say I told you so, if she ever saw him again. Her wits at last gathered, Lyanna kicked her mare into gallop; her mantra of old playing in her head, they couldn't hurt her if they couldn't catch her. She needed to escape the plains and reach the Wolfswood, she knew every nook and cranny there and they did not. Just in case, she remembered the dagger in her sleeve; she didn't want to use it but she could if she needed.

Close she'd gotten to the Wolfswood, so so very close. However, just as she'd meant to make a sharp turn, she had herself taken out of the saddle by this dumb hunk of a man. Lyanna reached for her dagger, but he pinned her arms in place; she looked up and it was no one else than Robert Baratheon.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it; Lyanna is rightfully wed to Rhaegar, and Robert kidnaps her. Yeah, I see what I did there too (which doesn't necessarily mean I know what I'm doing).


End file.
